From: lalsoong@sprynet.com (Christine Wirick ) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative Subject: Paradox Delusion 07/23 Date: Sat, 22 Feb 1997 18:58:39 GMT Organization: Sprynet News Service Message-Id: <30ef867f.1098991@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 Seven: Sam found himself crouched behind a boulder. He noticed other men in the distance, mostly obscured by trees, rocks, and bushes. Gunfire thundered through Sam's ears as he scoured the area looking for its origin. Examining his clothes, he recognized the outfit, khaki jacket, pants, and black boots, as part of the WWII era. This isn't possible, he thought, assuming he'd leaped into a WWII soldier. I wasn't even born during WWII. The gunfire continued to roar and Sam heard the agonizing screams of mutilated men. Dr. Beckett felt helpless. Cringing with their every cry, he wished he could put an end to their suffering. He'd spent years studying medicine, but now, here in the jungle, he could help no more than the next kid. "Halt dem Feuer. Jetzt!" yelled a german soldier. "Da alle tot. Wir geht. Wir geht. Schnell!" They think I'm dead, Sam thought, feeling his heart pumping the contradiction. He watched for a long moment as the Nazi troops cleared out of the area, then listening to the roaring sound of their vehicles driving away. Slowly, cautiously, he stood. I must be here to save someone's life, he thought, still believing he'd leaped into the soldier. He walked circumspectfully from tree to tree, knowing the enemy was gone, but apprehensive all the same. "Matthew," came an almost inaudible plea. "Matthew." Following the voice, Sam found a man partially hidden by a bush. All the doctors in the world couldn't save the injured soldier. He was holding his intestines with his hands. "Help me, Matthew," the man begged. "Pull the trigger." Sam, looking down at his pale knuckles, noticed the rifle for the first time. So great was his fear that he hadn't realized until this moment that he carried anything. "Please!" Sam remembered watching his father as he ended the suffering of a cow after she'd impaled herself on a fence post. There'd been no hope for her either; just long agonizing hours before the natural passing took its place. A bullet was more humane. Sam put the barrel of his rifle to the soldier's temple. Even knowing he was doing the right thing, he had to close his eyes before pulling the trigger. With the sound of the gunshot, he awoke. "Oh God!" Sam exclaimed, clutching the covers. He had only meant to rest for a while as he waited for Meg and Raymond to return, not fall asleep. Although he hadn't actually killed a man, he still felt all the anguish, all the guilt. The gunfire, the screams, the blood had all seemed as real as the time he'd leaped into "Magic". He'd dealt with the horrors of death then, too, but he'd also saved his brother's life, not taken one. Sam sat up trying to get the vivid image of the dream out of his head. It really happened,he decided. Matthew shot one of his fellow serviceman in order to put him out of his misery. "Oh God," he reiterated. "How can anyone live with such an awful memory?" "Let the pain go," a voice whispered as the wind shook against the window. "It's not your torture to bear." "Who's there?" Beckett clamored out of bed. He looked out the window, under the bed, and even in the closet, but he couldn't find anyone. "Patrick?" No reply came. The room darkened. A presence bore down on Sam as if intending to strangle him with its intangible hands. "Ben, is that you," Sam said through cracked lips. He waited for a long moment for a reply that didn't come. "Ben, if we could talk, I'm sure we could resolve this calmly like two rational men. I know Andrew Montgomery was with your wife--but as a friend, not a lover. They didn't have an affair. Andrew Montgomery was assigned to help Karen's father win the senatorial election. His opponent was obtaining votes illegally, as you know, and it was Montgomery's job to prove that." The temperature in the room suddenly dropped substantially. Sam's breaths grew labored and his mouth dry. His fingers and toes grew numb as he fought the edges of hyperthermia as though he were caught in a blizzard. "Ben, please," Sam barely managed. "I'm here for you, Beckett," a gruff male voice said. "I'll keep you out of harm's way." "Magic!" Sam exclaimed. "I was just thinking about you." Maybe there really is something to this thinking about past leap hosts. "I know that, man. We troops, we gotta stick together." The door swung open and Sam felt the spirit fleeing from the room. Simultaneously, the atmosphere returned to normal. "Are you all right?" Raymond asked. "I am now," Beckett replied, rubbing his hands together to regulate his circulation. "For a moment, It felt like a freezer in here. How'd you know I was in trouble?" "I was in the kitchen cooking breakfast when an eery feeling overcame me." Raymond grew a shade lighter and rushed out of the room. "Breakfast!" Sam took a quick shower before dressing in blue jeans and a sweater. All the time the warm water sprayed his body, he thought of the old movie "Psycho" and listened intently for the entity's return. His worries proved unfounded and ten minutes later, the time traveler was downstairs enjoying scrambled eggs, hash browns, and biscuits with gravy. While they ate breakfast, Sam described his dream to Raymond and Meg. Al showed up just after they finished eating, and he and Sam spoke as the time traveler did the dishes. "How's it going, Sam?" the project observer asked. "I had a dream," Beckett replied. "I've never had one quite like it. It seemed so real. I was a soldier in battle during WWII, cowering behind a boulder as I watched while the rest of my brigade was gunned down. And then I heard from Magic." "Patrick tells me that he believes he was a WWII soldier named Matthew Wayneright in his last life." "Do you think that's who I was in my dream?" "I don't know, but it seems most likely." Sam chuckled, having thought of an analogy that strongly correlated his life with Patrick's. "You know, I think Patrick is one of the few people who might understand how I feel, because leaping is like an exaggerated form of reincarnation. Patrick must remember bits and pieces of his life as Matthew as I remember certain things about the people I've leaped into." "True," Al said with a look of deep thought and puffed on his cigar. "I also have empathy for Patrick, but I don't think his past life has any bearing on our problem. I mean, sure I'll buy that you had a visionary dream, but does everything visionary have to relate to something else?" "But Ben was a soldier just like Matthew. I don't see how you can say that my dream wasn't connected to this leap. I think I dreamed about it for a reason. I'm just not sure yet how knowing about it is going to help me." Al consulted Ziggy, then said, "Ziggy says that there's a 92% chance that the only reason Ben thought Karen had an affair was because of his Vietnam experience." "See? Ziggy can agree with me occasionally. I think Matthew is the key to convincing Ben that he's wrong." "Ah, Sam," Al began, hesitation in his voice. "Patrick wants you to write up a list of questions for him and then go through Levels with him again." "Why?" Before Al could reply, Raymond reentered the room, clutching a large envelope. Meg walked in behind the assistant. "This just arrived," the assistant said, setting the package on the table as Meg walked in behind him. "The return address says it's from Anna Simms." "Sam, think about another Levels session," Al said. "It would be the easiest and the best way for Patrick to teach you. Tina's expecting me to take her to a movie. It's the matinee, so we'll have the back seat all to ourselves. See you, Sam." He popped out. Sam sat down at the table, and as he stared at the package, dread overwhelmed him. He realized that Anna Simms had to have mailed this package before their phone conversation. Yet she hadn't mentioned doing so. "Sam, the suspense is killing me," Meg said like someone anxiously awaiting a Christmas present. He glanced at her and nodded before ripping open the package and pulling out its contents. He found several letters written by Ben to Karen, postmarked Vietnam. Also inside, he found a short note from Anna, which read: "These letters are one of the few tangible memories I have of my boy. Please take special care of them as I would like them back as soon as possible, Anna Simms." Sam looked toward Raymond, wondering if he had known the letters were coming. "This is most fortunate, Sam," Raymond said, picking up one of the letters to examine the envelope. "I wonder what motivated Anna to send these." Meg began thumbing through the letters and began arranging them in order of postmarked dates. "I don't know," Beckett replied. "She didn't even mention it when we spoke over the phone. Maybe she'll tell me when I see her on Sunday. I guess I have some reading to do tonight. If you wouldn't mind," he said to Meg, "I could use your help reading through them." "Of course, I don't mind, she replied. Beckett turned toward Raymond. "But what if these letters contain something important on a psychic level and I don't even recognize it? I still don't understand why I'm doing everything that Patrick can do better." "Patrick would not have agreed to let you leap into his body if he didn't believe that this mission would benefit from either your presence here--or his having more distance." "I never thought of that possibility," Sam mused. "He knew that if he tried to help you and didn't succeed that he might endure tortured future lives. Study these letters, concentrate; let your mind relax, so your thoughts can flow freely. If there's anything of importance in them, I'm confident that you'll see it." Sam sighed heavily, not completely convinced and stood. "Why don't we take these letters into the living room?" He gathered up those envelopes Meg hadn't yet sorted and they left the kitchen together. I haven't spent this much time reading and studying since I was in college,he thought. I only hope Ben doesn't reappear before I figure out the answer to this test. They scattered the letters out on the coffee table and sorted them into chronological order before Sam read the first handwritten letter aloud to Meg. March 25, 1968 Darling, I have been here only days and it already feels as though I've spent a lifetime away from you. I love you too much to fill my letters with the graphic details of this war. You would hardly understand its meaning, for I am here, and understand very little myself. My troop is sleeping in small tents, with at least two soldiers alert and on watch at all times. We move every day, because it is not safe to remain in the same spot long. I've shed a good five pounds already, and I've discovered new muscles. You're always telling me how much you wished I would exercise, my darling. I'm never alone, can hardly think in private, but without your gentle, caring touch, I feel so lonely. Every day, I pray for the war to end, so I can return to your loving arms. Yours always, Ben The next few letters continued to be loving and tender, but as Sam progressed through them, he sensed a coldness creeping into them. Meg offered to take over the reading, and Sam, his voice becoming hoarse, quickly agreed. July 16, 1968 Karen, Two days ago, I watched a friend, Darren Krycowski, step on a land mine. He was no more than a few feet in front of me. It could have been me! I can't sleep anymore and when I do, I dream of Darren's death. I can see his mutilated body whether my eyes are opened or closed. I fear that image will never leave me. Karen, I cannot adequately describe how he looked, how watching him die felt. It was more horrible than any imagined nightmare. I wonder if he had a wife, children. His parents most surely must be aching with the loss. I don't ever want to put you through that. Oh God, please let me come home safely to you. Love, Ben August 12, 1968 Karen, I am so sorry I have let so many days pass without writing to you. We have been on our feet for many days, with very little time for rest. Sergeant Briggs is terrified, because he lost his informant a week ago. The boy (I don't think he was more than fifteen) was caught in a bombing at a restaurant. Briggs may be paranoid, but he thinks the bombing was directed specifically at his informant. He may be right. Three days ago, we were raided and lost four men. Two others were wounded and flown out by helicopters. I must confess that a part of me wished I had been taken aboard that helicopter. Even at the expense of losing an arm or a leg--at least I could escape from this hell hole. Yours, Ben "How could he write this to the woman he loved?" Meg asked. "He's not even telling her how much he loves her anymore." "I've never been in a war," Sam replied, "but Al has, and he's told me stories about how Vietnam was. That war broke a lot of good men." "For someone who promised that he would spare Karen the graphic details, Ben sure is morbid in his later letters." "It sounds as though he was becoming obsessed with the war." "But he was repulsed by it." Picking up the next letter, Meg resumed reading. September 1, 1968 Karen, I have a confession. I can't go on without telling you what really happened the day Darren died. He was severely injured by the land mine, but I don't know if he could have been saved--all I know is that he was in agonizing pain. I couldn't stand there and watch him suffer, slowly bleeding to death. I had to do something. No one was coming. Please forgive me! I brought my rifle up to his temple and pulled the trigger. Ben did not even sign this letter. "Wait a minute!" Sam exclaimed, standing up to pace around the coffee table. "I can't believe the parallels! I had a visionary dreams about a soldier named Matthew Wayneright. I think Patrick was him in a previous life. Anyway, Matthew also had to shoot a fellow officer in a similar situation." "That's uncanny," Meg commented. "Perhaps there was a reason behind your having the dream. Somehow it must connect with what Ben and Karen are going through." "I'm thinking the same thing myself. I just wish we could figure out exactly what that is." He sat back down on the couch. "Why don't you finish reading the letters now?" The next several letters were filled with more and more graphically detailed accounts of Darren's final moments. It began to seem as though Ben were writing to a stranger. The letters stopped for a full six months, until he sent a brief note letting Karen know he had been discharged and was coming home. "Why didn't he write her during that time?" Sam asked. "Karen was frantically worried that he was dead all those months. She kept expecting someone to knock at her door with the bad news." "It's so weird thinking about you being with her during part of that time," Meg replied. "Sam Beckett, you are such a kind and caring man. A lesser man would have succumbed to the temptation." She brought her hand to his face. "Andrew Montgomery. . .in the original history, they did have an affair." "Are you sure of that?" "I'm surprised you asked that. My computer Ziggy made the same suggestion. Maybe I was wrong about Karen and Montgomery having an affair. I just don't understand why." "We all make mistakes. Sometimes we enter--or don't enter--a relationship for what we believe are good reasons. It doesn't mean that we're always right." "I get the feeling that you're talking about someone other than Karen and Ben." He remembered how impressed Patrick had been with Meg and wondered if the feeling ran both ways. "You could say that." She averted her eyes for a second, embarrassed. "I've been thinking a lot about Lisanne Sheffield. The way she and her husband interact really has me worried. Charles claims that he loves his wife, wants to protect her, but he's too overbearing. I really wish I had the opportunity to talk with Lisanne alone." "Maybe now would be a good time. Charles is probably at work, and I got the impression that Lisanne doesn't work." "He probably wouldn't let her get a job if she wanted one! If you'll give me the number to where they're staying, I'll give her a call." Sam pulled out his wallet and handed the card with the phone number to her. While she walked over to the phone to dial the number, he carefully gathered up Ben's letters, returning each one to its envelope. He was just finishing the task when Meg hung up the phone. "That's half the battle won," she said. "Lisanne agreed to see me." "I'm glad to hear that. The living need our help, too." "Ah yes." Meg grew a bit dreamy-eyed. "I was wondering if you'd do me a favor while I'm gone." "Sure. What is it?" "I have a few unpublished articles that I'd really like to get your opinion on before I hand them in to my editor." "No problem." After Meg left, Sam went to his room with the articles. He barely began reading them however, when he suddenly lost his grip on the papers . A vision of Matthew flashed before him. The soldier had been escaping from a death camp when he stepped on a land mine. Clutching his own chest and gritting his teeth, Sam could feel the other man's pain, though the agonizing death had happened several decades earlier. As Sam cried out, he remembered "Magic" and the woman photo journalist who had died in place of his brother. That's the ticket, Beckett, Magic rang through. Let the image go! Then his vision changed as he watched a car driving down a lightly-traveled road and listened as the couple inside fought. He could see Karen Simms' hair blowing in the wind. Sam hovered over Ben, almost feeling his thoughts, and yet he was somehow detached at the same time as though in a dream state. "I didn't have an affair," Karen screamed. "You're crazy Ben!" Angry, Ben grabbed his wife and fiercely shook her. Sam watched from two decades later as Ben pressed his thumbs against her throat, cutting off her air. Simms did not look like a man who had ever loved his wife, Sam thought. No, he looked like a man possessed. Though Ben had released his foot from the accelerator, the road went downhill, and so the car maintained its momentum, veering off the winding road. Screaming, Ben released his grip on Karen and reached for the steering wheel, but he was too late. The car rolled three times down the embankment and into the river below. Ben and Karen knew no more, for their lives ended inside the crumpled mass that had once been their car. Fighting to pull himself away from the vision, Sam tried to picture pleasant images. He thought of cotton candy, popcorn, and ferris rides. Slowly, the bloody image of Ben and Karen's fatal accident dissipated from his mental view. "Come to me Sammy," an affectionate female voice said. "What?" Sam asked, shaking his head in hopes to clear it. He looked out the door, surprised to see his mother, but not as she would be now, but rather as she was during his childhood: young and thin, so pretty. "Mom!" he exclaimed. So overwhelmed with the need for maternal love, he thought little of her youthful appearance. It's just an illusion, said an unidentified speaker. You must fight it, Sam! The time traveler vaguely remembered the voice as someone he'd once leaped into, but he couldn't recall a face or a name. "Come with me," the image of his mother pleaded as it glided over the landing to hang suspended in the air. "No, no," Sam barely managed to say as he faltered away from the landing. He moaned, struggling to regain control of the body he occupied. He made it into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. The spirit left like a strong gust of wind. "Oh God," Sam exclaimed, realizing how close he'd come to jumping. These demons are stronger than I realized, he thought. Only now did his acrophobia kick in; his pulse raced. He began sweating profusely, unable to concentrate on anything but his intense fear of heights. He couldn't go near the landing, couldn't climb down the steps, couldn't leave the room. He was sure that the demon would return and have its way with him. Al zapped into the room and removed his cigar from his mouth, shock written on his face. "Sam!" he exclaimed. "You've got to snap out of it or these demons are going to win." "I can't, I can't," Sam barely managed through dry lips. "Yes, you can! You have to!" "But he was trying to force me off the landing. I-I can't go back out there." "Well, he's going to come back and win if you don't snap out of it. Ah. . .think of past leap hosts. . ." Al faltered, waving his cigar and then slamming his palm against the handlink in frustration. "Oh. . .remember Victor Panzini? He was a trapeze artist and you caught his sister, Eva, after she did the triple. You tackled your fear of heights then, and you can do it again now." "No, I can't," the time traveler wailed helplessly. "If he can use my mother to entice me, what chance do I have?" "That's why you need to go into Levels again, Sam, so Patrick can help you grow stronger. You have the ability, Sam. You just need to be taught how to use it." "Okay," Beckett said weakly as he wiped his brow and sat up. He intertwined his hands, trying to steady them. After a moment his breathing and pulse regulated. "Okay, I'll go into Levels again." Al sighed with relief. "Are you going to be all right now? I really don't want to leave you alone." Sam nodded. "I'll go downstairs and find Raymond." He stepped out of his room, and Al followed him throughout the house until he found Raymond in the laundry room, washing some of her clothes. "Okay, Sam," Al said. "He'll take care of you. I'm going to inform Patrick of your decision." He opened the imaging door and vanished.