From: AKulsum@aol.com
Date: Tue, 19 Nov 1996 02:31:12 -0500
Message-ID: <961119023112_351553535@emout18.mail.aol.com>
Subject: child 1/10

"Like As a Child" pt. I
 
  Al Calavicci rode his red Ferarri through the generous-sized town of Santa
Fe, New Mexico. He was in an incredibly good mood. Not only had extra alimony
charges been dropped from his second (fourth?) ex-wife, and not only had Sam
just had a remarkably easy assignment he had just leaped out of, but he had
had a particularly satisfying engagement with a young woman named
Sandra.....something. So, in celebration, he had pushed all his paperwork
aside and taken his first day off in a year or so. It was this "appointment"
that he was returning from now. Sam leaped in at the oddest times, usually
within three or four days and Al liked to be back at the project when it
happened.
  He turned onto a side road, more of an alley really, as a short cut back to
the open desert road to Stallion's Gate, whistling to himself, when the right
front tire blew. Al cursed; this was _not_ the best place in town to be
stranded in and he was wearing one of his favorite suits: sea green jacket
and slacks with an unusually (for him) plain white shirt and a metallic
silver tie. He got out and was just putting away the jack, congratulating
himself on keeping his clothes clean, when he heard a noise from a dark
corner of the alley. He froze, standing in the road by the passenger's side.
He waited a minute, and then another, braced to make an instant flight or
fight decision. The wind blew down the alley, chilling Al to the bone. He was
about to get back in the car to leave the alley and the desert chill behind
when he heard the sound again. It was almost a whimper. Finally satisfied
that whatever it was wasn't going to attack him, Al unlocked the passenger
door and reached for a small handgun under the seat. He kept it there for
emergencies ("in case the husband finds out," Sam always teased). He held it
in a steady hand and advanced to the spot where the sound had come from,
against all instinct, which was screaming at him to go the other way. 
  "Who's there?" he demanded in a firm voice.
  A sharp cry was his only response and he advanced a step closer, wishing
desperately he had remembered to put his flashlight back in the car last time
he had taken it out. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to make out
the source of anguish.
  "Oh God," he murmured, frozen in place for the second time that evening. A
girl, about ten or eleven by Al's estimate, perhaps even younger, lay in the
street. She had on a pink dress that was covered in grease from the ground
and one sleeve was torn. Her face sported two large bruises on her right
cheek and her forehead, and her upper arms held them as well. Matted brown
hair fell about her shoulders and she looked at him with hooded eyes.
  "Please, help...." she whispered.
  Al fell to his knees, ignoring the hard pavement that dug into his knees
and covered his slacks in the grease he had so carefully avoided earlier. He
put the gun in his pocket and knelt beside her, uncertain of what to do.
"Where are you hurt,  sweetheart?" he asked gently.
  "Please," she pleaded, "he'll come back. He has to, to take me back." She
fell back onto the ground in a semi-conscious state and Al reached out
quickly to catch her head before she hit it again. He crouched awkwardly
beside her. Finally, after a short internal debate, he rested her head on his
left shoulder and lifted her gently. He carried her quickly back to the car,
placed her in the passenger's seat, and belted her in. Within seconds, they
were both locked securely inside and he drove off as fast as safety would
allow.
  Al debated whether or not to bring her to a hospital, but he knew the
merits of the Santa Fe hospital and decided that since he himself would
rather die than be taken there, he would let Verbeena take a look at her.
Besides, she really didn't look too bad. A mild concussion was the only thing
that could cause any worry. She had no broken bones and no open wounds as far
as he could tell. He certainly wasn't a doctor by any stretch of the
imagination, but he knew basic first aid at least.
  Nonetheless, Al found himself speeding more than usual on his way back to
Project Quantum Leap. Upon arriving, he locked up the car and carried her
into the building. Her head tucked itself firmly into the cushion of his
shoulder and she moaned gently. He felt a wave of anger against whoever had
done this to a little girl.
  "Uh, sir?" began a guard as he walked in.
  "As you were, Corporal,"  Al snapped. "Where is Doctor Beeks?"
  "Uh, I believe she's in her office, sir. Admiral, for security reasons, I
must inquire as to-"
  "Thank you, Corporal. Will you notify her that I need to see her in my
quarters immediately?" Al continued as if the officer had never spoken.
  "Yes, sir. But sir, may I-"
  "Salute, _Corporal_," Al said coldly. The corporal saluted him and he
nodded and left.
  He took her to his room and laid her down gently on his bed. Al began to
pace anxiously. She looked terrible in full light, and he got a warm, damp
washcloth to help clean her up while he was waiting for Verbeena to show.
  The girl reacted in pain as he touched her face with the cloth, but he
whispered quietly to her and she subsided. "It's okay, baby," he soothed.
"You're safe. There's nobody here that will hurt you."
  The door opened behind him and he stood up as if embarassed. "Don't you
ever knock?" he asked, turning to face the psychiatrist.
  Verbeena grinned and looked as though she was trying to think up a smart
comment when she caught sight of the still figure on the bed.
  "Al," she gasped. "What on earth happened?" She rushed to the bedside.
  "I found her just like that. On the streets. I couldn't just leave her
there," he finished defensively.
  "And you brought her _here_?" she retorted, straightening to look him in
the eye.
  "You should consider it a compliment to your medical talents," he commented
dryly.
  "Who are you?" came a small voice from the bed and they both turned
simultaneoulsy to face the girl.
  Al smiled at her. "My name's Al, and this is Verbeena." He sat down on the
edge of the bed and reacted in surprise when she reached for his hand. He
took her's and held it tightly. "You're okay, baby. We'll take care of you."
  Verbeena frowned at him. "Where do you live?" she asked.
  "No!" the girl cried, trying to sit up. He held her down gently but firmly,
squeeing her hand in reassurance. "Don't make me go back, please!"
  He closed his eyes briefly in pain. "Don't move, honey, you're not well. We
won't send you back unless you want us to."
  "Al..." Verbeena warned from behind him.
  "Just please tell us where you live," he said, ignoring Verbeena.
  "I live in Santa Fe," the girl responded as Verbeena went to the other side
of the bed and began to look her over for any signs of serious injury, such
as internal bleeding. "At the Brook Street Orphanage."
  "Orphanage?" Verbeena asked, surprised.
  Al found himself holding her hand in both of his now. "Did you run away?"
he asked.
  She shook her head. "My daddy came to take me out for the night. He does
that sometimes." 
  He heard the unspoken fear behind the words. "He did this to you?" he
demanded, earning a startled glance from Verbeena.
  She hesitated. "We want to help you," Verbeena assured her, "but we can't
unless you tell us the truth. We don't want to have to send you back if it's
not safe for you there." The child nodded and tears welled up in her eyes. Al
thought his heart would break. "What's your name?" Verbeena continued.
  "Callie."
  "Callie what?"
  "Callie Winters."
  "Callie, can I ask you somthing?" Al asked. When she nodded, he said, "did
anyone at the orphanage say anything when your daddy hurt you?" She shook her
head and he looked at her with infinite sorrow. "How old are you?"
  "Eleven."
  Al clenched his teeth, trying to hold back the rage building within him. He
looked up at Verbeena.
  "Lots of bumps and bruises and a minor concussion, but she should be okay
within a day or two." She paused. "Al, can I talk with you outside for a
moment?"
  "Callie, I'll be right back," he said as he released her hand. She looked
reluctant, but nodded again and Al trailed Verbeena out of the room.
  She grabbed his arm as soon as the door was closed. "Al, are you crazy?
Have you even begun to think of the legal implications of all this?" she
demanded. "You should have taken her to a hospital."
  "And then they'd just put her right back in that bad situation. You heard
her, the orphanage hasn't done anything about this. Sorry, 'Bena, I tend to
look at moral implications before legal implications."
  She shook her head at him. "This is a job for the police."
  "We involve them, they will have questions for us. We can't let them find
out about Project Quantum Leap.....we're top secret, remember?"
  "You should have thought of that before you brought her here," Verbeena
snapped.
  He stood firm. "I don't know if I did the right thing, but I know I
couldn't leave her there, and now that I know her story, I'm glad I didn't."
  "Fine, Al. Fine. But if this all falls down, it falls on your shoulders."
  "I'll call the orphanage tomorrow, first thing," he assured her. She just
looked at him. "But I'm _not_ bringing her back."
  She threw up her hands in exasperation. "That's brilliant, Al, just
brilliant! Then you'll be a kidnapper. What are you going to do, adopt her?!"
He looked steadily at her. "Al?" He turned on his heel and went back into the
room, closing the door behind him.
  "I'll be in my office if you come to your senses!" she shouted at the
closed door, and then turned away. "That man!" she groaned as she stalked
down the hall. "I swear.....if he didn't have such a good heart...."
 
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  Adoption? It was absurd, of course. Al would just have to find some way
around this. Perhaps he could get her transferred to another orphanage.
  Al gave a small sigh and shifted position on the couch he was stretched out
on. He had put Callie in his bed after Verbeena had seen to it that she had a
long bath. While she took care of her, Al had taken the opportunity to drove
back into town to buy her some clothes at a twenty-four hour place. Where she
was going to sleep had sparked another argument between him and the doctor.
She insisted that it was not appropriate for her to sleep in his room, and
upon reflection, he figured she was probably right, but he was unable to
accept the arrangement that he would be far away from her. Finally, after
assuring her that he would call her if there were any problems, Verbeena had
relented. Now, he slept fitfully in the adjoining room, the door to his
bedroom cracked slightly.
  For Al, the unhappy memories of his own days in an orphanage were too
strong for him to lightly consider sending her back. And for him, his
father's visits were always anticipated with great joy, not fear. He felt his
stomach turn at the thought of Verbeena's description of the bruises covering
the rest of her body. If he ever got his hands on the bastard, there were
going to be _many_ legal implications to think about. However, until that day
might come, he had to decide what he was going to do. Perhaps he could call
the authorities and let them handle it all. The only problem there was that
Callie would be a victim for at least another year as the wheels of justice
took their time getting to her. He seriously doubted, based on what he'd
seen, the orphanage would take any steps to prevent it. If only there was
some way he could take care of her until he could be assured it would be safe
for her to go back. Or rather, to have someone else take care of her.
  The muffled sound of crying reached him, cutting into his thoughts. He rose
and went into his bedroom, feeling his way to the bedside. "Callie?" he
called softly. Then he realized she wasn't even awake.  He sat down on the
bed and stroked her hair gently, whispering continuously to her, operating
entirely on instinct. The moonlight spilled through the window and Al could
see the silvery tracks of her tears as they slid down her face and onto the
pillow. He was certain she still wasn't telling him - them - the whole story,
and he was determined to find out what it was.
  When the child finally stopped crying, Al left the room to get some sleep
himself. An hour later, he was still throughly unsuccessful in doing so. He
got up and wandered around the small room, looking periodically towards the
door that led to his bedroom. He hadn't heard a sound from the room since
he'd left it earlier, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything else.
  Finally, he went back into the room and sat down on the floor next to the
bed, leaning against the night table. He couldn't remember ever moving from
the spot, but morning found him lying on his side on the floor like a
guardian angel over the still sleeping child.