From: Jason Eric Dzembo Date: Mon, 30 Aug 1993 07:41:50 -0400 Message-Id: <9308301141.AA27583@localhost> It was dark and quiet, but not completely on either count. The surroundings were interspersed with soft rustlings, a quiet cough and a fair number of subdued sobs. A dim pattern was playing along the inside of his eyelids. Sam Beckett opened his eyes, not sure what to expect. He was in a church. Or, he corrected himself, noticing a yamilke on the head of the man in front of him, a synagogue. A place of religion, at any rate. Although Sam had never given serious thought to what an afterlife might be like, this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. With a faint, wry grin, he realized it felt a lot like quantum leaping. One minute, he was lying on the floor of Miriam Ferziger's room, breathing his last, and the next he was sitting in the back of a synagogue, wearing a black suit and high heels. Sam blinked and stared at his feet again. There must have been some mixup when he died in Miriam's place. He was condemned to spend the rest of Eternity in high heels. He whimpered. Someone placed a hand on his, getting his attention, and he glanced at the young Japanese woman beside him, her glasses in her lap. "Are you alright, Micki?" she whispered. Micki? He could accept going to the afterlife as Miriam, but apparently he hadn't. And if he hadn't gone as Miriam and he hadn't gone as himself, then maybe he wasn't dead after all. But that would mean... Belatedly, Sam's eyes fell on the plain pine casket at the front of the room. An icicle pierced his heart as he whispered, "Oh, boy." Part VIII April 29, 1993 "I know," the woman continued with a sad smile. "I can't believe I'm at a funeral, let alone Miriam's." "Miriam..." Sam repeated softly, staring at the coffin. It seemed too small, too ordinary, so unlike what she deserved for a final resting place. The Imaging Chamber door opened in the center of the aisle and Al emerged, glancing around frantically. His eyes fell on Sam and widened a notch. "Sam!" he exclaimed, "It's you!" Sam tore his eyes away from the coffin to look questioningly at his friend. "Where's Miriam?" Silently, Sam nodded towards the coffin. Al turned and did a doubletake. "Oh, Sam..." he whispered. He hunched his shoulders and looked away. "We need to talk." Before Sam could excuse himself, the crying in the room redoubled as a small group of people entered the room. "That must be her family," Al commented. Sam agreed, noticing that the older of the two women resembled what Miriam would look like when she was older. If she had lived long enough to grow older, Sam corrected himself. He glanced at Al and asked, "Why did she die?" "I don't know," the woman beside him replied. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and sniffled faintly. "I don't think we'll ever really know." "We aren't sure what happened, Sam, to be honest. In fact, until I got here, we thought you were dead and that she had leaped." Al explained. His handlink squealed and he consulted it, adding, "Ziggy's current theory is that you leaped just before dying, but that Miriam didn't leap back immediately, due to the fact that we were extending her life, unnaturally, back at the Project. She must have leaped when Dr. Beaks let her go." Sam stared at Al, who held up a defensive hand, saying, "I tried to stop her at first, but she had a valid point, Sam. Miriam was in pain and being kept alive by machines and she couldn't leap back until she was released. Unfortunately, that meant letting her die." Sam was silent, but the look of anger on his face diminished. Al had done what he had to do. In his own heart, Sam understood and couldn't blame his friend for the decision. "I know you can't really say anything," Al said, "And it's probably not a good time to excuse yourself." Indeed, even as Al was talking, a rabbi entered, and stood at the front of the room waiting for the noise level to diminish. "I'll try to give you the basics in the meantime. Your name is Michelle Duncan, but you go by Micki. It's April 29, 1993, and you're in Palo Alto, California." He gestured to the woman beside Sam adding, "Your friend is Doreen Kasson, another friend of Miriam's from the newsgroup. Most of them are here, in fact." He placed his head besides Sam's, resisting the temptation to overlap Sam completely, since it would unnerve him as much as his friend, and glanced around. He gestured with the handlink to the back of a couple of heads a few rows up. "There's Chris Hill and John Snyder. You met them briefly during your second sojourn at the convention, just before...you leaped out." "Where?" Sam asked, not quite sure where Al was pointing. "Right here," Al sighed, walking through the pews to stand between Chris and John. "What?" Doreen asked. Sam pointed towards Al and replied, "Chris Hill and John Snyder are sitting over there." Doreen followed Sam's finger with her eyes and nodded, commenting, "I can't see them very well from here. I can't believe how crowded it is." "She hasn't met a lot of the people from the newsgroup, yet, Sam," Al commented, "She's missed both conventions so far, although she makes it to the one in 1994." "Miriam was popular," Sam agreed, a lump rising in his throat abruptly, making his voice sound strained. Doreen nodded silently and dabbed at her eyes. Sam picked up a pocketbook he presumed was his and began searching for some tissues of his own. He figured he'd need them by the end of the service. The service had been proceeding and Sam felt a bit ashamed for not paying full attention to it. The rabbi was just finishing his speech, appearing choked up. Either he was a good actor, or he knew Miriam personally; Sam suspected the latter. The man's obvious efforts to keep his composure seemed to emphasize Sam's own feelings of loss and he felt the tears welling up. The rabbi introduced the Stanford Savoyard Chorus and Sam took advantage of the brief interlude to wipe his eyes. When he looked up, Al was watching him quietly. "Tell you what, kid," Al said gently, "Why don't I come back after the services and we'll talk then, okay?" Sam nodded, thankful for Al's understanding. Nodding grimly, Al exited the Imaging Chamber and Sam turned his attention back to the chorus, who had begun singing. Sam couldn't identify the song, but it was beautifully rendered, full of genuine feeling. The rhythm was hampered only slightly as chorus members broke off from time to time to deal with their tears. Belatedly, Sam recognized Mark Baushke as one of the singers. His tears seemed most prominent and, remembering the friendship the man had shared with Miriam, Sam felt a painful empathy for him. He remembered his irrational discouragement with the man who had tried to shield Miriam from Sam's supposed advances, as Jason, and, in the aftermath of Miriam's death, Sam's reaction seemed trivial. What was the point in holding a grudge? There was none, but it shouldn't have taken the death of a woman he cared about to realize that. As the song ended, the chorus broke up, returning to their seats where they were allowed to cry without the added pressure of standing in front of a crowded synagogue as their tears flowed. Sam tracked Mark with his eyes until he reached a pew towards the front of the room. He was sitting with Sally and Joe and a few other people, some of whom Sam recognized, a couple of whom he didn't. He returned his attention to the rabbi who began a reading by Poe. The author's gothic style lent the proper air of sadness and regret to the reading and Sam dabbed at his eyes again. A second reading was done, dealing with the question of Why. It was appropriate under the circumstances. Sam was asking himself why about several things. Why had he leaped instead of dying? Why couldn't they have tried harder to save Miriam back at the Project? Why did the woman even have to die in the first place, getting cut down in the prime of her life? The reading echoed Sam's thoughts at least it echoed his last thought - but when it was over, he still didn't have an answer. Finishing the second reading, the rabbi introduced Mark Gerber. It took Sam a moment to place the name. Beside him, Doreen gave a faint gasp and whispered, "Oh, no." As a young man extracted himself from the same pew where Mark Baushke was sitting, Sam made the connection. Mark Gerber was Miriam's boyfriend, the "nice Jewish boy" she'd planned on marrying, the man for whom history itself had been rewritten just so the two of them could enjoy six months together before her death. As Mark talked of Miriam, with bittersweet fondness and more than a little bravery, Sam cried. Suddenly the tissue in his hand seemed inadequate. Echoing a phrase he remembered from their first encounter via the computer network, Mark concluded his speech with the words, "Go figure." His own tears were flowing steadily and he made no attempt to wipe them away as he returned to his seat. His parting words had said it all. When the service was over, Doreen and Sam made their way outside. It was a beautiful day, the type of day that only comes a couple times a year. Certainly much too nice for a funeral and Sam felt an irrational wave of anger that the weather had the audacity to be so pleasant on so morbid an occasion. It just didn't seem right. Al was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. "Wait for John and Chris to catch up," he suggested, pointing at the handlink. Sam nodded and touched Doreen's arm as she started up the sidewalk. "Why don't we see if Chris and John want to ride with us to the funeral?" Doreen nodded and looked back towards the synagogue. "Ziggy's been running some numbers, Sam, and she can't come up with a single reason for you to be here. Her best guess is that you're overwhelming need for some sort of closure caused you to leap here." Al shrugged and commented, "No better place to say good-bye than a funeral." Sam shot him a look. "Here they are," Doreen commented, nodding towards the stairs of the synagogue. Sam turned and waved a hand to get Chris and John's attention, hoping belatedly that Micki had met them before. The couple recognized Sam and joined them. Their eyes, by no surprise, were bloodshot and moist. Sam performed hasty introductions and the four of them took turns hugging, providing the necessary moral support to get each other through the unpleasant experience of burying a dead friend. They were joined by Sally and Joe Smith, with two unfamiliar women in tow. Introductions and hugs were exchanged again. The taller of the two women had curly hair in a reddish color that Mother Nature never intended. She was introduced as Christine White. From what Sam gathered she was currently living and working in Germany, but, when she'd heard about Miriam's death she'd begged and pleaded with her boss for an extended weekend and, overcoming her fear of airplanes for a worthwhile cause, she'd flown in for the funeral and a brief visit with friends she had made during her stay in California, prior to moving to Germany. The other woman, introduced as Mary Allison had also flown in, but from somewhat closer, namely Illinois. "It's a big sacrifice on her part," Al commented when the woman was introduced, "She's getting married in two days and, even though she's only staying here long enough for the funeral, it's time out she can't really afford to take. Friendships run pretty deep with this group." They were joined by another woman, with long dark hair. She looked from Sam to Doreen with a smirk and said to Sam, "I'll bet you're Micki." Sam nodded and asked, "Do I know you?" He didn't recognize her, though she was most likely another friend of Miriam's from the now infamous newsgroup. "I'm Dara!" the woman announced. "Dara Golden," Al said, providing the last name Dara assumed Sam knew. "I knew it was you when I saw the tall stunning blonde and the short Asian chick come in." Dara added. The group gave a round of chuckles and Sam joined in, perplexed. "That's how Micki and Doreen describe themselves to their friends on the newsgroup who they haven't met," Al remarked. "I just wish we could have met under better circumstances," Doreen commented and there was a murmur of agreement. "Sam, they'll be heading to the cemetery soon. Why don't you get one of those orange stickers for your car, and you and I can talk on the way." Al suggested. "I'll be right back," Sam announced at a convenient pause in the conversation. "I'm going to get a sticker for my car for the procession." He left the group chatting, trying to shield their minds from the dismal occasion that had brought them together. Once out of earshot, Sam asked, "What do you mean I'm here for closure?" "Ziggy says you've got this overwhelming feeling of loss and failure and that you can't accept Miriam's death. And, since you're at least partially responsible for your leaps, that's why you're here." Al explained. Sam had had an enlightening experience at a bar called Al's Place several months earlier - if the word month had any relevance in Sam's lifestyle. Since then, Sam had relayed much of what he'd learned to Al, who had been skeptical, but accepted the fact that Sam believed what he was saying. His skepticism had faded somewhat as circumstances seemed to support the theory that Sam had some input in his leaps after all. "But I can't save her here, Al. It's too late for that." "Exactly, Sam, it's too late. You can't save her. I know it hurts, but there it is. Ziggy says the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can leap." "How can I accept that, though, Al?" Sam demanded, "Her death was so pointless." "Life goes on, Sam." "How can you say that?" Sam stared at his friend aghast. "Look, Sam, think about it. In two days, Mary Allison is getting married. In October, Katriena Knights is having a baby. Paul Woodard and Anita Kilgour, another pair of friends from Miriam's newsgroup, are getting engaged in July. Doreen is going to get a new job that she enjoys in a couple weeks, and she's had to overcome the deaths of two of her friends in the last year! Sam, like it or not, life goes on! Miriam's friends are getting on with their lives, as I'm sure she'd want them to. What makes you so special?" Sam was silent, getting a sticker for his car and turning back towards the group on the sidewalk. Gently, Al said, "Don't keep tormenting yourself over her, Sam. Let her go." The group split up, heading for their respective cars and agreeing to regroup at the cemetery. Sam followed Doreen to his car, trying to make it look like he knew where he was going all along. The Explorer was parked a fair walk from the synagogue, unable to get closer due to the number of people at the funeral. They joined the processional and discussed the services, how well done it was in spite of the pain involved, and shared memories of Miriam. Most of Sam's memories of her he didn't feel free to share with the group, though, at one point, he took a chance and commented, "It's so hard to believe she's dead. She was so alive at the Con, so excited about Chain Reactions being released. It's amazing how suddenly things can change. It makes you realize how fragile life really is." He caught John's eye in the rearview mirror as the man commented, "I didn't know you were at the Con this year." "Oh, I, uh, I meant the first one. You know, last year," Sam responded, hoping Micki had been at that one. She must have been, because John seemed satisfied with his answer. Prompted by Al, Sam provided a more appropriate memory for Micki to be relating, of messages on Micki's answering machine, asking for a favor or extending an invitation, memories of afternoons spent at Miriam's house or at Micki's, talking and laughing, and eating turkey and Swiss sandwiches with mustard, and of Miriam's most recent visit, during which she had taken pictures of Micki and her dog Scout, pictures that Micki wasn't sure if Miriam had ever had a chance to see. The ride to the cemetery took a quick forty-five minutes. Once there, Sam's group rejoined Joe and Sally, Dara and Mary and Christine. Another couple had joined them, introduced as Carl Baltrunas and Cheri Marinelli. Miriam's casket was carried to a freshly dug grave, high on a grassy hill beneath a palm tree whose thick leaves rustled faintly as they caught the breeze. It was a beautiful spot and Sam had a fleeting wish that Miriam could see it. The wish was fleeting because his attention was distracted as they reached the moist ground, making walking in high heels a chore that require complete concentration. The group stood huddled together, holding each other up, distancing themselves slightly from the other guests. The two Marks were with Miriam's family, Mark Baushke keeping a watchful eye on Miriam's mother who was hurting most of all, while Mark Gerber watched the workers lowering the casket into the hole, shaking his head gently in disbelief. Much as Sam griped about his own job from time to time - no pun, intended - it seemed pretty reasonable when compared to the thought of having to daily bury the dead. "What a horrible job," Sally commented softly. "I was just thinking that," Sam responded. There was a faint murmur of agreement. "Well," Sally added, "wherever she is, she knows the ending to the finale." A chuckle passed through the group as Sam frowned disdainfully. A couple people within earshot glanced in their direction, unamused. "And she's saying, 'Neener, neener, neener.'" Doreen added, eliciting another chorus of nervous laughs from the group. Sam had almost felt the temptation to laugh himself, having heard Miriam use the expression before. Doreen's comment was accurate, but, he felt, inappropriate. "People are staring," he murmured, nodding towards the grave. "Let them," Mary responded, "Miriam wouldn't want us standing here being morbid. She'd want us to laugh." The others agreed and Sam considered, in the end realizing that Mary was right. Miriam had been so full of life, and even though he knew her friends would never again see her face, her smile, or hear her laugh or her voice, she wouldn't want them feeling morbid for her. She would want them to move on with their lives. Just like Al had said. There were more services. Prayers, Sam suspected, though much of it was in Hebrew and, if he had a working knowledge of the language, it had been Swiss cheesed on this leap. He tried to keep his own emotions reigned in by observing those around him. Al, he noticed belatedly, had left, willing again to leave Sam to the services without distraction from an invisible friend. When it was over, Miriam's mother made her way to the pile of fresh soil by the grave, supported by Mark Baushke. Tearfully, the woman dropped a shovelful of dirt into the grave and shrieked in response to the hollow thud it made as it hit her daughter's casket. Sam shivered in spite of the warm afternoon sun, knowing that he wouldn't soon forget the sound of that scream or that thud. One by one, the people at the graveside filed past the mound of dirt, each placing a shovelful of dirt into the grave solemnly before retreating. One woman Sam couldn't identify approached their group and said softly, "Please. It's considered an honor to help bury the dead." She half-turned towards the grave, suggestively. Sam's group exchanged a round of glances, moving almost as one to the graveside, none willing to leave the safety of the others. One by one, Sam's group stepped up, and dropped a shovelful of dirt into the grave before replacing the shovel and hurrying back to the comfort of the group. Sam hung back, knowing it was inevitable, but resisting all the same. It seemed so permanent. He knew it was irrational, but he felt that, if he put a shovelful of dirt into her grave, he'd be admitting defeat, admitting there was nothing he could do to save her. He felt he'd be sealing her fate, even though her fate had already been sealed three days before. In his mind he knew it was over, that he'd done everything he could to save her and it hadn't been enough, but his heart rebelled. Inevitably, his time came. He walked slowly to the pile and picked up the shovel. The wooden handle was warm and slightly slippery from the number of nervous hands which had held it. He hauled up a load of dirt, more than he'd intended to pick up, and held it over the grave. He risked a glance into the hole, looking for a spot that had enough dirt to prevent his shovelful from making another thud like the sound of a hammer driving the final nail into her coffin. Faintly, almost like a breeze, he heard music, a haunting, familiar tune. Softly, with infinite tenderness and sadness, a dulcet soprano sang, "It's over now, the music of the night." Phantom Of The Opera, Sam realized. He'd sung those same words himself not too long ago. A quick glance wasn't enough to identify the singer, though. He supposed he'd imagined it. Indeed, the voice had sounded familiar, as though the words were being sung by the one person present who couldn't possibly have been singing. Sam shuddered and tipped the shovel. Time itself seemed to stretch like taffy as the dirt fell. Softly it landed with only a muffled noise. Relieved, Sam turned to rejoin the group and nearly collided with a young man who had come up behind him. He looked familiar, though Sam was sure he'd never seen him before. He held out a tentative hand and Sam handed him the shovel. Lightly, the man's fingers closed around Sam's and he felt a shiver of electricity. The man's face seemed to melt and reform. When the process was complete, Miriam Ferziger stood before Sam, her hand still touching his, a faint smile playing at her lips. Softly, she spoke. "Thank you, Sam." She smiled, her eyes glistening. A cool blue glow enveloped her and she leaped.