From: lalsoong@sprynet.com (Christine Wirick ) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative Subject: Paradox Delusion 05/23 Date: Sat, 22 Feb 1997 18:58:25 GMT Organization: Sprynet News Service Message-Id: <30ed866b.1078789@news.sprynet.com> Nntp-Posting-Host: ad70-113.compuserve.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Chapter Five: Trying to relax so he would be able to sleep, Beckett decided to read a little more of Julian's House. He did not get much further, however, because he was more tired than he realized. After nodding off and jerking back awake three times, he decided to set the book aside. Besides, the parallels between fantasy and reality were swirling around too much in his head. Ironically, his sleep was peaceful. Just after dawn, a strange owl-like sound awoke the time traveler. Sam slipped on his pants, and went out into the hall to investigate. He saw nothing. All the lights were turned off. I must have imagined it, he decided. Otherwise the noise would have woken Meg and Raymond. Everything I've been told and everything I've read has influenced me more than I realized. Then he wondered if maybe Zoey had caused it. Could demons make noises that only one person could hear? Sam supposed it was possible, especially with everything else he'd been made to believe during this leap. He ran his hand along the landing, looking down. He halfway expected to see a goat as he had once before looking out a window and down a ladder. Although he saw nothing unusual, fear still gripped him. Thoughts of his imminent death engulfed him. Oh God! As he tried to maintain his balance, he felt as though his feet were floating inches above the ground and hovering precariously over the landing. He opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, a vision came into focus, quickly engulfing him. He saw a man supine bound by ropes. A mob of men and women, surrounded him, chanting incoherently. They stared at the man, licking their lips as if he were a delicacy. A huge man nearly seven feet tall approached him, a grin covering his face. He brandished a weapon, that Sam could not see clearly as if his mind was deliberately blocking the object out to protect himself. "Be careful, Sam," an unseen woman's voice said. "Let the vision go." The voice was instantly familiar, but Sam couldn't place a face with it. Had he met her during one of his countless leaps? Or was she someone he knew from his life--his real life? For some bizarre reason, that Sam could not pinpoint, he was reluctant to listen to her. He floated closer to the mob, and the voice grew more urgent. A crystal ball appeared transposing over the image of the cannibals followed by a woman with long black hair; Sybil, the gypsy from the carnival. Listen to the souls in your eyes, she coaxed him. Though he could no longer see the mob of people, he still sensed their presence. He wanted to know who they were and where they were from. No matter how hard he concentrated, no insight came. His mind had a blank spot, disallowing the knowledge to flow into his conscious thoughts. The vision dissolved and again, Sam was looking over the landing at the living room below. Where am I? he wondered as he was attacked with vertigo. He tried to grasp the rail, missed, and slipped into another vision; this one a flashback. He screamed in shock. He was Victor Panzini, a Hungarian acrobat, and he had to catch his sister, Eva, after she did the triple, the very feat that had killed their mother. Sam was terrified of heights. Sam! Sam! Sam! another familiar voice yelled out to him. Fight the negative feelings. Concentrate on your memory of our time together. He'd fallen in love with her once when he leaped into a reporter named Dylan Powell. So why couldn't he recall her name? His sweaty palms could no longer grip the landing and he lost his tenuous hold, plunging toward the living room below! Sam hadn't noticed Raymond entering from the kitchen until the man broke his fall. Sam landed on top of Raymond with a hard thud. Otherwise, he might have broken his neck. Fighting for breath, Beckett rolled off the other man. "Are you all right?" Sam asked, offering a helping hand. "Am I all right? You're the one who could have died." Raymond accepted Sam's hand and both men stood. "What the hell happened?" Meg asked, rushing out of her room still in her nightgown. She noticed the broken railing and backed away from it. Carefully, she climbed down the steps to join the men. Beckett looked up at the landing, still feeling quite dizzy, and shook his head. "I'm not sure what happened. All I know is that a really weird noise like a owl hooting woke me up." Both of them looked at Sam quizzically, confirming that the call had only been meant for him. "When I reached the landing, I suddenly felt dizzy and overwhelmed by my fear of heights." "You have a fear of heights?" Raymond didn't wait for a reply. "The entity must have sensed that and fed off your fear." "This is getting really weird," Meg said, showing apprehension for the first time. "I didn't expect something like this to happen! The demon or entity or whatever we want to call it must have sensed that you were becoming PSI aware and fed you with an enormous amount of negativity." She glanced at the landing again and trying to lighten all of their moods. "You better stay away from stairways." "Look, maybe what we need right now is something to help calm our nerves," Ray said. "I could make some hot chocolate." "Thanks for the offer," Meg said, "but what I need is to get out for a while. It's nearly seven a.m.--my jogging hour, anyway. Excuse me." She returned to her room to change into her jogging suit. Sam nodded toward Raymond and followed the other man into the kitchen. After the cocoa had been made and poured and both men were sitting down at the kitchen table, Sam said, "When I was standing on the landing, I felt something or someone evil pushing me." "I knew Ben would return soon," Raymond replied. "I just wish you'd gone into Levels before that happened." "I'm not sure Ben caused this. It could have been a demon or an evil leaper named Zoey, who Al and I have encountered during a couple leaps. She enjoys going places I have already been and undoing the good I've accomplished. She once had a partner named Aleah, but deep down, Aleah was truly not evil, and I was able to convince her of that." Raymond nodded. "Demons are in many places, trying to corrupt good people into losing their faith in God. That is quite probably what happened in Aleah's case." "Yes, she was a good person, but she had been made to believe that the world rewarded kindness with hardship." "Sometimes when I think about how God could let such putrefaction occur, I get so angry. Why must good people suffer? Why does HE have the ultimate say over how life dictates over billions of living creatures?" Beckett was speechless. He would not have guessed that Raymond felt this strongly about their creator. There was still a lot he needed to learn about this man. Staring at Steele as he took another sip of his hot cocoa, the time traveler wondered how the other man would act on his anger. Would he rebel against God and religion in general? Or would he begin his own crusade against evil? Either reaction from Raymond would mean he still wore the mask of denial. As Sam continued to stare at the man he barely knew, he also wondered what had happened to him to engender such harsh feelings. "Didn't your Mama ever tell you that it's impolite to stare?" Before Sam could apologize, Raymond broke out into laughter. "I'm just trying to bring you back down to Earth. . . .or is it back up? That's all." "I'm sorry. It's just that. . . .I'm a bit surprised." "Unfortunately, you are probably right about the current situation," Raymond said. He forcefully set down his cup as if saying he wanted to let his little tirade rest. "Whether it is this Zoey in this case, I do not know, but undoubtedly it is a servant or servants of the devil's who are every bit as powerful or even more so." "You think there could be more than one at work here?" "Did you succeed against Zoey?" "Yes. I would not have leaped otherwise." "Hmm. . .then Satan would play his hand better if he is indeed attempting another game." "Game--maybe that's the way Satan sees it. But any God-fearing man would see it as a battle. When whoever--or whatever--was controlling me, I saw an image of these people. I think they were cannibals, because they had someone tied to a spit. I think that someone was me." "No it wasn't!" Raymond exclaimed. "You've leaped into Patrick. It's only natural that some of his visions would flicker into your consciousness." "Then his vision of cannibals must mean that--" "Patrick believes that if he dies prematurely in this life then it's his destiny to suffer at the hands of cannibals in his next life." "Prematurely? You mean murder, don't you?" Reluctantly, Raymond nodded. Sam felt the blood draining from his face and took a sip of cocoa to warm the chill engulfing him. He'd challenged death during many of his leaps, but never before had he faced the prospect of a nightmare reincarnation. "By this evening, I hope you will agree to try Levels. It could aid you in probably more ways than you realize. You need Levels not only to help you tune into your psychic abilities, but to gain trust with Patrick in much the same way you're able to trust Al. You and Al have a bond through his ability to project himself as a hologram wherever you are. Patrick believes that a similar bond with him will boost your confidence enough to succeed." "I know that I promised you an answer this morning, but with all that's happening--I'm still thinking about it," Beckett replied. "In the meantime, I need to get out of the house for a while. That'll help me think more clearly, and I'll be able to give you a definitive answer about Levels when I return. Anything you need while I'm out?" "No. You just enjoy your break. I'll take care of whatever happens here." "I'll try not to be gone too long." Standing, Sam left and headed outside. Before he reached the car, however, Al popped up beside him. "Al, am I glad to see you. Ben or some evil force attacked me a little while ago. I saw visions of cannibals preparing someone for eating. I thought that someone was me." "What!" "Now, I think that it was supposed to be Patrick's vision, but it still feels so real to me. If it hadn't been for Sybil--you remember the gypsy from the carnival show--Ben would have succeeded. After Sybil came to me, I remembered leaping into Victor Panzini and I felt almost as if I were swinging fifty feet above the ground all over again. And the strangest part was, that the height didn't scare me." "That could be because you were more frightened by the vision. Sam, what does this have to do with Ben Simms?" "I think Victor saved me just as much if not more than Sybil. By remembering that particular leap, I was able to remove myself from Patrick's hellish vision." Al nodded wearily as if to say that he believed Sam, but at the same time was a bit embarrassed by the fact that he'd emphatically denounced the possibility of psychic abilities in the beginning. "Then this force knocked me over the landing." Al grew pale. "Sam, I didn't think Ben was capable of that!" He chewed nervously on his cigar. "Ziggy says that there's no sign of Zoey's handiwork here, but I'm inclined to doubt her word here--as you so often do. There has to be a demon at work here! Ben couldn't force such nasty visions on you and coax you toward the landing so he could push you off all by himself. Could he?" "That's true. Except Meg told me that no one can force me to have a specific vision. This spirit thrusted negativity on me and my connection to Patrick caused me to experience his vision. I have a feeling that if this were Zoey at work, she'd show herself. She takes almost as much pleasure in gloating about what she's done as she does in the actual deed. But then maybe she's changing her strategy,. because we know her. Maybe she's employed others into doing her dirty work, so we can't prove she's involved." "Then that makes this situation ten times worse, Sam! How do we fight someone we can't even see?" The time traveler placed his hands on his hips and avoided making eye contact with his friend. "I think the only way is by trying Levels. Should I, Al?" "Well, it's your decision," the project observer replied. "Patrick says that he will not push you into doing anything you don't want to do. But Ziggy says that it will double your chances." "Double? I thought she said fifteen percent before." "She did. She changed her mind. I don't know if Ziggy's confused or what." "So what does that make my chances?" He was doubtful that he had much of a chance no matter what he tried, because this leap was so unlike any other. "About fifty percent." "I'm not sure what scares me more," Sam said. "Facing these demons or admitting that I might be psychic." "You're going to do it, aren't you, Sam?" Sam finally looked at his friend and slowly nodded. "Later tonight--after I've had a chance to regain my composure. So what did you pop in for?" "What--oh, Ziggy dug up the info on Andrew Montgomery. He still works about thirty miles from here for the same paper he worked for in the 70's. Only now, he's the senior editor of The Carolina Gazette." "Maybe I should pay Andrew Montgomery a visit and ask him point blank whether he and Karen Simms had an affair." "Sounds like an interesting story angle to me," Meg said approaching Sam. "I don't know who you're talking with, but that's the most interesting one-sided conversation I've ever listened to." The time traveler turned to face her, not sure how he was going to explain this one away. "What exactly do you think you heard?" "Let me guess--you're talking with your guardian angel." "Something like that," Sam replied, glancing quickly at the project observer. "Everyone needs a guardian angel to keep them in line." "That's right, Sam," Al said, puffing contentedly on his cigar. "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me--that is, as long as you let me come with you to talk with Andrew Montgomery. Maybe he'll let me write my next segment on him." "Do you think he's going to want his name in a story about a ghost accusing him of having an affair with his dead wife?" "We won't know unless we ask," Meg replied, giving his arm a squeeze before turning and walking toward the car. Confidently, she opened the passenger-side door and stepped inside. Sam knew that she was overly excited about the assignment, but still couldn't help thinking about the similarities between now and his previous leap into Andrew Montgomery. He found Meg very tempting like the forbidden fruit. He wondered if Meg was married. Maybe he was here to prevent Patrick from having an affair with a married woman, he thought, though part of him argued that a man like Patrick wouldn't allow himself to become involved with a married woman. Could this leap parallel the other that closely? As Sam drove, Al gave directions from the back seat. "So, does your guardian angel talk back?" "Doesn't yours?" "Sometimes, I think he does. I just wish I was better at listening to him." "Well, Al--that's my guardian angel--he's something special." "I bet he is," Meg replied with a knowing smile. Sam eyed her, wondering what she was thinking. Could she actually see Al, or did she simply believe him? Maybe she really did have her own guardian angel. The only other alternative was that she suspected he was schizophrenic and certifiably ready for a mental hospital and was just playing along with the notion of a guardian angel. Al popped out as they neared their destination, telling Sam he had a lunch date with Tina. Finding a parking spot not too far from the front door of the newspaper office, Sam parked the car and he and Meg stepped out. The front office was divided into several cubicles. they approached the first one, where a black woman was typing at her computer. She paused at her work to look up at them and ask, "May I help you?" "My name is Patrick Marland," Beckett said. "I'm a freelance photo journalist. We'd like to speak with Andrew Montgomery." "Do you have an appointment?" "No, not exactly." Meg placed her hands on the desk and fixed the other woman with a firm, confident stare. "My name is Margaret Miller. I am an investigative reporter from Atlanta. I would like to discuss a story of mutual interest with Mr. Montgomery." The black woman picked up her phone receiver and dialed an extension number. "Mr. Montgomery," she said, "there's a Patrick Marland and a Margaret Miller here to see you." She spoke with the editor for a few moments, repeating what Meg and Sam had told her. After hanging up, she told them, "He can see you now if you make it quick. Second office on the right. His name's on the door." She pointed toward a hallway. "Thank you," Beckett said and he and Meg made their way to the editor's office. He knocked on the door and Montgomery ushered them inside. "What can I do for you?" Montgomery asked, tucking his pen behind his ear. He was in his late forties, had pepper-colored hair and appeared genuinely willing to listen to them. Sam felt odd looking at a man he had once leaped into. "We're here with a bit of an unusual request," Meg told him. "I'm Margaret Miller, an investigative reporter from Atlanta." She pulled out her billfold and gave him a business card. "I'm writing a series of articles on a house in Mt. Pleasant and some years ago, you were directly involved with its former occupant." He leaned back in his chair and reflectively said, "Karen Simms. Now there's a name that hasn't come up in a conversation for a while." "It's been twenty years since she died," Sam said, "and just like that you knew who we were talking about?" "No real man could ever forget Karen Simms. She was one classy lady, not just beautiful; she didn't just look the part--She had a way about her that made men stop and pause. I consider myself so fortunate to have met her, to have gotten to know her so well." "How well?" the time traveler challenged. Montgomery made direct eye contact with him, and for a moment, Beckett thought the editor would refuse to answer the question, perhaps even dismiss them. Then Montgomery grinned and said, "Not as close as I would have liked. My ethics were not quite as well defined back then. I would have slept with her in an instant if she'd given me the sign she was willing. But unfortunately, she loved her husband." The latter he spoke with an icy tone. He stood, and turning around, stared out his window. "When I heard about their accident," he continued, "I really started wondering: Was it really an accident? That war did something to a lot of men. Many of them came back in pieces, with legs and arms missing, but even some who were physically all there, still had something missing. That war stole their identity. Turned them into monsters. Now, I didn't know Ben Simms before that bastard war took control of his life, so I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt. Whatever happened between him and Karen after he returned, I don't think he was in his right mind." "You went to her funeral, didn't you?" This question came from Meg, with a sympathetic tone. "Yes," Montgomery replied, turning to face her, "yes, I did." "You obviously loved her very much. On the record, would you mind if I asked you a series of questions about your relationship with Karen Simms?" "Why don't you write out some questions and I'll answer them as soon as I find the time. If you'll excuse me, I'm supposed to meet the mayor for lunch." He stepped passed them, pausing at the door. "Leave the questions with Kate. She's the woman you spoke with earlier." Beckett was surprised by Montgomery's willingness. Did the editor want others to know about his relationship with Karen Simms? Want them to know he had been in love with her? If so, maybe there had been more to their relationship after Beckett's leap out. Much more. Sam couldn't wait to read Montgomery's responses to Meg's questions. A short while later as Sam and Meg left the office, he asked, "Would you like to go out to lunch?" "If you're buying, how can I refuse?" "I'll even let you choose the place." Meg chose a privately owned cafe a few miles from the newspaper office. They sat down at a booth by a window and when the waitress came, they ordered fettucini and coffee. and crab sandwich and a coffee. Their conversation centered around their reactions to Montgomery and Meg's ideas about the continuation of her haunted houses series. Meg had been interested in the supernatural since she was a young girl. "Sam," Al said, popping in beside the time traveler. "You need to get back to the house. Patrick is getting too worried that Raymond has been there alone too long already." Startled, Sam jerked in Al's direction. He should have been used to the hologram's unannounced arrivals by now, but sometimes, he simply didn't expect Al to show up. "Sorry, didn't mean to--" Before he could finish, Meg said, "Your guardian angel is back." Both Sam and Al looked at her and exclaimed, "What?" "Why else would you suddenly look away from me at an empty space?" "Then you can't actually see Al?" Meg shook her head. "No. Usually, guardian angels prefer not to reveal themselves to anyone other than those they're guarding," she said. "If I were you, I wouldn't go around advertising that I have a guardian angel. Some people might think you're certifiably nuts." "And you don't?" Meg hesitated before answering, making Sam nervous. "Well, there are certain things that make me very curious. When I met you before, you seemed more relaxed, less worried about this whole situation. You didn't strike me as the type of man who would have a fear of heights. I remember you had a habit of playing with your beard--which annoyed me to no end. Then when you called me in Atlanta, you were startled that I would just drop everything to come here for this assignment. Any good reporter would know that sometimes other assignments take priority." She pointed at his styrofoam cup. "You've barely touched your coffee. The Patrick I met before would have gotten two refills by now. Sorry, but you know us investigative reporters. We notice everything. I actually like the person you are now, but you're too different. No one changes that much in a few weeks, so would you mind explaining yourself to me?" Sam turned toward Al, hoping for advice. The project observer did not make eye contact as he fidgeted with the handlink. "Don't know how you're going to explain this one away, Sam. But you better think fast, because Patrick is getting very nervous about Raymond being left in the house by himself." "I thought he agreed that it was best for each of us to get out every once in a while," Sam replied, momentarily forgetting that Meg couldn't hear Al. "Wait a minute," Meg interjected. "He who?" She narrowed her eyes, staring at Beckett suspiciously. "Who are you?" "You're Patrick Marland," Al said forcibly as though it could help the time traveler convince this inquisitive woman of it. "I'm Patrick Marland," Sam said with a straight face. Leaning toward him, Meg said, "I don't believe you," and without waiting for him to reply, she wiped her mouth with her napkin and walked away. She turned to glance at him, but then stepped outside and waited by Patrick's car for Sam to join her. Beckett looked at the project observer, who only shrugged before pressing the button on the handlink that opened the imaging chamber. After paying the bill, Beckett exited the cafe, and walked passed Meg toward the car. "You're impossible, you know that." "Only when I'm right." With a smug smile, she walked over to the passenger's side and stepped into the car as he did likewise from the driver's side. For several miles, they rode in silence, with Meg staring knowingly at Beckett. Finally, growing agitated, he turned toward her. "If I'm not Patrick Marland, then who do you think I am?" "A spirit. You've returned from the other side, Purgatory, limbo, whatever. Maybe you decided you didn't like what was on the other side, so you decided to possess a corporeal being. Maybe you're even here to help Ben Simms back to this side." Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Why would I choose to possess a guy like Patrick Marland? Why would a guy like Patrick Marland even let me? He's a psychic. He knows how to safeguard against that sort of thing." Meg leaned toward him with a big grin. "He--you said he. I knew you were someone else. No one talks about themselves in the third person! Not unless they're crazy. You're not crazy, are you?" "I'm not a spirit." Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Most people are not as perceptive as you are." He paused, carefully contemplating what he was about to say. "You're right. I'm not Patrick Marland. Patrick is somewhere else--some other time, my time. He knew that we were going to switch places, and he agreed that we needed to." "Go on," Meg said, wide-eyed and continued to listen, with barely an interruption, as the time traveler filled her in on the details of Project Quantum Leap.