From: lalsoong@sprynet.com (Christine Wirick ) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative Subject: Paradox Delusion 19/23 Date: Sat, 22 Feb 1997 19:00:26 GMT Organization: Sprynet News Service Message-Id: <33234150.1310390@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 Nineteen: The body of Dr. Sam Beckett opened its eyes, glanced around the room and quickly registered confusion. "Where am I?" he squealed. He sat up and started to pull the tubes out of his body. "Don't do that," Doctor Beeks said, rushing over to her patient to reattach the tubes. "The tubes are for your protection." "Who are you?" "I'm Doctor Verbena Beeks. Do you know who you are?" "Of course, I know who I am! What kind of a question is that?" Having heard Sam's voice, Al raced into the room. "Sam!" he exclaimed. "Now, who the Hell are you? My name's not Sam. I'm Ronnie J. Purnell." "Oh. . .of course, you are," the observer replied with obvious disappointment. No matter how hard he prepared himself for the inevitable stranger inside his friend's body, he always held out an ounce of hope that the next time Sam would leap back into his own lifetime. "I want to know where I am and how I got here!" Ronnie demanded. "I'm supposed to be at work. If my boss discovers I've left the restaurant he'll fire me!" Walking away from Purnell without answering the boy, Al quickly picked up the handlink, which he'd left setting on the counter. "Ziggy, give me data on where Sam is, now!" Al felt alive again, because now he knew Sam was alive. * * * Hartford, Connecticut, October 17, 1979 Sam had leaped into a high school senior, whose worst problems were a mild case of acne and whether or not he would have a date for Friday night's dance. Ronnie worked at a local diner and Sam found himself cooking a basket of fries as he leaped into the boy. Ten minutes later, Al arrived, looking almost as ghostly as Karen Simms, just as the lunch crowd was dispersing. "What happened, Sam?" he asked. "Ziggy couldn't find you for several hours!" "I don't know," Sam said in a low voice so no one else would hear. He was scraping the excess hamburger grease off the grill. "I don't remember exactly, but I had this feeling that Patrick and I were still connected. I wasn't inside of him, I don't think, but he was nearby. I can't remember exactly what happened, but I'm left with this feeling of great despair. I believe Patrick was in grave danger and that I had no way of helping him. He was altered somehow, not Patrick, and yet still Patrick. I don't think he remembered his past life as Patrick." "Sam, Patrick's not dead." Beckett stared pensively at his friend. "I think he's in some sort of limbo--not alive and not dead. He's over there, Al, helpless, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop his torture." "Ah. . .Sam," Al said, feeling equally as helpless. He looked to his link to their artificial intelligence. "Ziggy has been monitoring Patrick's history for a six-month period after your leap in. He slipped into a coma right after you leaped out, but he's still alive. Unfortunately, Ziggy can't get a lock on Patrick after six months, so we don't know if he comes out of the coma or--if he dies." Al looked back into his handlink. "Ziggy says that Charles Sheffield was convicted for attempted murder and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison." "Attempted--then that's proof that Patrick didn't die." Al punched a few buttons on the handlink, shaking his head. "Ziggy is confused about the entire Marland leap. When you disappeared, Ziggy began running scenarios. Every time she thought she might have a solution, something interfered and she had to start over. If only we knew more about what was happening during your time in that other dimension. Can you remember anything else inside that swiss-cheese brain of yours? We have to figure out some way to prepare ourselves in case this were to happen again." A cold shiver ran down Beckett. He didn't want to think about returning to that horrific dimension or any like it! Sam wiped his hands on his apron before removing it. Ronnie's boss had given him permission to take a twenty-minute break after cleaning the grill. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned toward the hologram. "Al, let's sit at one of the booths where no one will see me talking to myself." They walked out into the dining area and sat at a booth near the jukebox, which was playing Heart of Glassby Blonde. The only customers in the diner were a middle-aged man by himself and a woman with her school-aged daughter and they were sitting at the opposite end of the room. "All I'm getting is vague impressions," Sam said after sipping his coffee. "At first, I thought my life was in danger, but now I don't think I was ever in danger. Someone else was in danger, but I can't remember why. I can't even remember for sure if it was Patrick." "You must have saved him," Al replied. "I get the feeling that I didn't, not really. That I wasn't even suppose to." "Did this place where you were at have anything to do with the places Patrick wrote about in his journal?" "Journal?" Sam questioned, vaguely remembering having read any such book. "The one where he wrote about his future lives. Sam, you do remember? Is it possible that even though he's in a coma, Patrick could be living out those future lives?" "Yes. I-I think you're right." Sam brought his hands to his temples, suddenly remembering the pain felt by the man on the spit. "Cannibals--they were preparing another human being for a feast. That was the first alternate life Patrick wrote about in his journal. Al, it's all going to be played out--every life he wrote about in that journal." "That's good, Sam--I mean, that you remember." He punched a few buttons on the handlink, relaying the new information to Ziggy. "Maybe now Ziggy will have a better idea as to why your psyche is still connecting with Patrick's." He waited for an answer from Ziggy. "She thinks you followed Patrick through the dimension, because you bonded psychically with one another and that the only way you could have done so was. . . .willingly. She doesn't think that the link between you and Patrick can be completely dissolved until you are ready to distance yourself and break the connection." "Okay then," Sam replied, his mind racing to come up with a plan. "We need to figure out why I've leaped into Ronnie, so I can leap again and hopefully go some place where I can do something about helping Patrick." As Beckett spoke, the project observer rapidly communicated with Ziggy using the handlink. "You're here to save--" Before Al could finish, the woman across the room screamed, "Oh God! Somebody, please help my baby!" "Sam, the little girl over there--she's choking," Al exclaimed. Sam rushed over to the girl, pulled her out of the booth, and as a frightened mother watched with awe, performed the Heimlich maneuver, dislodging a piece of hamburger. The child gasped a welcome breath. "Oh thank you," the woman told Sam as she took her child into her arms. "How can I repay you?" Sam tried to tell her that her gratitude was enough, but leaped before he could get the words out. * * * Floating through a void again, Sam wondered, Where am I? More importantly, who am I? He could not see and so he called out for anybody who could hear him. No answer came. "Patrick!" he yelled. After calling out to his friend, he realized Patrick was not here, would not be coming back here to this void. Patrick could not cross over or even come to this in between until he had completed every future life mission. This place of loneliness, of nothingness, belonged completely to Sam. After several minutes, a strong gravity-like pull spiraled Sam Beckett downwards into his next host. "Oh boy," he said with a groan as he realized he was dressed in a silky see-through gown that revealed his host's full-figured breasts. What could be worse than this? he wondered. A large masculine hand reached out, touching him on the shoulder and gently pulling him down. Sorry I asked. "Oh, my little lamb," the man said in a deep, rich voice, "you were wonderful." He began fondling the breasts of Sam's host. Sam stared into the brown eyes of the heavyset man lying in bed with him. The man was wearing nothing but a crown with rubies. Sam quickly looked away, bringing his hand up to his face so he couldn't see the naked man. "I don't feel well," Sam said, hoping the man would let him go. He always hated leaping into a woman, but this had to be one of the worst situations he'd ever found himself embroiled in. What if this man actually expected him to--no he couldn't even think about the prospect. "I'd like to take a bath," he pleaded. "I'll join you. You can scrub my back and a few other places." "No," Sam replied, chuckling nervously, "I'd rather take one alone." "You'd defy my wishes?" the man screamed, grabbing Beckett forcefully by the arm. "I could have your head on a platter. You could be on the crucifixion wheel with Flora tomorrow if you so much as look at me funny." "I won't. I promise." Sam struggled to think of a way out of this situation. There was no way he was going to get caught taking a bath with another man! "Go fetch me something to eat," the man bellowed, nearly pushing Sam off the bed. "I'm hungry." "Okay," Sam replied quickly, relieved that the man had abandoned the notion of a bath. He glanced around the room, hoping to find some clothes that belonged to his host. He only found a pair of slippers on the stone floor and slipped his host's dainty feet into them. "Do it now!" the sultan bellowed. "Okay, okay." Sam left the room, folding Lamb's arms around her chest in a feeble attempt to cover her body. He wandered across the hallway, taking a stairway down to the first floor. He hoped he could find the kitchen right away before the sultan grew any angrier. "Al, Al," he called in a low voice, even though he knew Al could not hear him until he popped in--if he could pop in to wherever Sam was. Al's not coming, the time traveler thought. I'm in some bizarre other world again. Oddly, leaving his own world brought the memory of his other dimensional leap back into clear focus. He knew what he had to do; he couldn't interfere with Patrick's destiny in this altered reality. However, he had to use every possible opportunity to learn what he could to help matters in normal reality. He wandered through the halls, checking room after room until finally finding the kitchen. A platter of fried drumsticks, from what ever type of bird people ate in this world, were setting in the ice box. He looked around for some means to reheat the meat, but there were no appliances in the room. The sultan struck him as a barbarian anyway and probably wouldn't care whether he ate his meal hot or cold. Now if I can find my way back, Beckett thought as he stepped back out into the hallway. He was most definitely lost. There were steps several yards away, but they were leading down. He turned to go the other way. "Is somebody up there?" a female voice exclaimed. "Please, I'm so confused. I just need someone to talk to." Sam hesitated, a pang of sympathy welling up inside his chest. He didn't know who the woman was or why she was so desperately lonely, but he understood her emotional state. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her. Yet, he knew the sultan was waiting for his meal, probably getting angrier by the moment. "Please!" the woman wailed. He couldn't ignore her pleas. He climbed down the narrow steps, immediately getting assaulted by the stench permeating every corner of the room. Only one small window provided any light, and Sam remained at the bottom step until adjusting to the darkness. He inched forward, feeling his way around all the obstacles. He noticed a small cell ahead. "You came, Lamb," the woman said, standing up and gripping the bars. Wearing a white robe and a black sash, she looked like a martial artist from Sam's world. "I thought tomorrow would come without anyone to say goodbye to." "I must be here to rescue you," Sam said. "Rescue me! How? You don't have a key and these bars--" She wrapped her hands around two of them to demonstrate. "Are made of the strongest steel." No!" Sam suddenly realized. "I'm so sorry, but I can't try to rescue you. Altering your fate would distort the future of this world." The woman fixed him with her brown eyes, causing a shiver to run through Sam's body. "I think I understand--but that doesn't make it any easier." Sam reached out to touch the prisoner with his free hand. "I know how difficult tomorrow will be for you, but through it all remember that those who will be forced to watch, will never forget. They will learn from your torture. You will become a martyr in their eyes and a drastic change in this world will soon follow." "Thank you, Lamb, for coming to see me," Flora said, lowering her eyes. "But you better leave now before they catch you and sentence you to the same fate. This world doesn't need two martyrs." Sam grasped Flora's hand fleetingly and then turned and walked back up the stairs. He paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, to lean against the wall and close his eyes. This was the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do--letting someone die. Destiny could not be altered here, for it was vital to their souls. Once complete understanding came, he leaped. August 6, 1984: Daytona He leaped into a race car driver going 140 mph down a winding track. "Ohhh boyyyyy!" he screamed as he saw other drivers racing against him. Swerving to avoid a crash, he barely kept the car under control. He crossed the finish line, but drove nearly halfway around the track before bringing the car to a complete stop. After removing his helmet and checking to make sure no cars were coming, he stepped out of the car. Slowly, leaning against the vehicle, he walked around to the other side, as he tried to get his bearing. Please God, don't let me throw up! he said, closing his eyes. Something unusual is going on here, he thought, vague details about his last leap flashing across his swiss-cheesed memory. He recalled speaking with a woman who had been awaiting her death. But who was she? And why was she so willing to die? A heavy set man and a young woman rushed toward Beckett, snapping him out of his reverie. "You did it, Luke!" the woman exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him and planting him with a kiss. She was a medium-built woman with short auburn hair. She was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt with a picture of Luke's car printed on it. A moment later, camera flashes nearly blinded Sam as he accepted a huge trophy from a bearded man. With the resilience he'd gained from years of leaping into strangers, Sam began answering the reporters' questions. Al popped in beside Sam. "Thank goodness I finally found you. Sam, after you saved that girl from choking, your body in the Waiting Room went back into a coma state." Sam looked at Al, wishing he could speak, but others were already whisking him away. They escorted him into a limousine and the young woman took a seat beside Sam. Searching out clues to help him with Luke's identity, Sam glanced down at the woman's left hand and noticed a wedding band on her finger. She was Luke's wife. Now if he could just learn her name! He reached over and grabbed her hand and she smiled brightly at him. "I think I'll wear my green dress," she told him. Al popped in and poked his head through the limousine window. "Ah. . .she--Diana--was going to wear the red one." "I thought you were going to wear the red one, Diana." "It's a little tight, dear. That's why I changed me mind and decided I'd wear the green one." "Oh, I'd love to see you in that red dress," Al said. Sam turned to him sternly and with his expression, asked the observer why he was here. Toying with the handlink, Al began feeding him the information from Ziggy. "You're thirty-four year old Luke Sorel. You've been a race car driver for the past ten years, and you've been overtaxing yourself lately preparing for the race you--or rather he--just won. The limousine driver took them to a Marriott and Sam followed Dianna's lead up to the fifth floor. As soon as the door closed behind them, Dianna stripped off her t-shirt, showing no immodesty. She shouldn't, of course, Sam reminded himself; she was Luke's wife, but he, Sam Beckett, always felt embarrassed when placed in this type of situation. He felt relieved that Al hadn't followed them up here. "You better get showered and changed Luke," Dianna said as she opened the closet to remove her green dress. "We don't have a whole lot of time." "Sorry," Sam said, realizing he had been staring at her. "You're right of course." "I know what you're thinking about me." She snickered. "We can have a private celebration later." "Oh boy," Sam said under his breath so she couldn't hear. He entered the bathroom and began preparing for a shower. He only hoped that he leaped out before this private celebration took place. Twenty minutes later, they were back in the limousine heading toward the restaurant where a party was being held in Luke's honor. Al popped back in just as Sam took his seat at the table. "Sam, Ziggy's running scenarios, but we don't know yet why you've leaped into Luke. Worse, we have no idea why your body keeps slipping into a coma and we keep losing contact with you. Ziggy still hasn't been able to uncover any more information about Patrick Marland. It doesn't make any sense since Patrick is a highly respected photo journalist. If he came out of the coma, then he should have bylines appearing in newspapers all over the country." Al paused while Sam accepted a toast from Brent, Luke's manager. "To Luke Sorel," Brent said. "May others forever eat his dust." Al studied information that Ziggy was sending through the handlink. "Sam, Ziggy says that you have to tell Brent that you can't participate in the next race. Luke dies in that race." Sam glanced cautiously at the observer before quickly returning his gaze to Luke's manager. "How do you feel now that you got your first trophy?" Brent asked. "I bet you can't wait 'til the next race, huh?" "Well, actually, today's race thoroughly wore me out," Sam replied, expecting Luke's manager to respond by encouraging him to drive in the next race. "We've hardly had any quality time together for the past several months," Dianna added. Brent's smile wavered, but he didn't reply. Instead, he leaned toward the woman beside him and began whispering in her ear. "Sam, can you excuse yourself from the room?" Al asked. "Excuse me," Sam said. "Nature calls." Al followed Sam into the bathroom and after checking each stall to determine that they were alone, they spoke freely. "Al," Beckett said, "I know why you can't come to me during the time my body's in the coma. I traveled over into another dimension." "Yes, that's right. You were with the cannibals last time, remember? Where were you this time?" "I was part of a harem. I was a woman and so was Patrick. He--I mean she--was facing execution. She was about to become a martyr, so positive changes could occur in her world. Patrick and I, we're still connected somehow and until that connection is broken this is going to continue happening." "Then Patrick must have died." "I don't think so. I think that he's going to come out of that coma, but don't ask me why I'm so sure. I just have this feeling. Once he's made positive changes in all those future lives he outlined in his journal, he will be allowed to return to this life. Al, don't you see that it's a lot like my putting right what once went wrong?" "Maybe, but thank God you don't have to endure all that torture in order to make positive changes." Al looked helplessly down at his handlink. "Unfortunately, Ziggy isn't as psychic as Patrick." Does Ziggy know what happens to Meg Miller?" After consulting with the computer through the handlink, Al replied, "She enjoys a very rewarding career as a writer. Ziggy's confused about her personal life, though. Sometimes Ziggy reports that Meg never remarried, while other times she believes she did marry." "Patrick?" Al consulted with Ziggy. "Maybe. . .Ziggy's not even clear on that." "I believe I will have the chance to set things right, Al. Somehow, someway, God is going to give me the opportunity to go back and help everyone involved with the Sheffield case. Patrick is not going to die. "I wish I had as much faith," Al muttered. Then he purposely changed the subject, "Sam, just make sure Luke doesn't drive in next week's race. Go out there and tell Brent that you need to take a vacation." "Okay," Sam nodded. "I need to finish this leap as quickly as possible, so I can go someplace where I can learn more about what's going on with Patrick." "I'm not sure I like the sound of that." "I'm not sure I do either, but there really is no choice." He stepped out of the bathroom. Al followed him out and stood a few yards away as Sam informed the group that he would not be participating in the next race. Many questions were asked, but Sam remained adamant about his decision. "I don't understand," Brent said after the crowd began to break up. He grasped Sam by the arms. "But who am I to question my number one hero? You did great out there today, son. You've earned a vacation. You and Dianna go somewhere pleasant and let the world take care of you for a while." Can't be this easy, Sam thought. A leap has never been this easy. But as he was finishing the thought, he leaped out of Luke anyway. With the leap in transit, he realized Sorel's purpose--to give him a much-needed vacation from his current mission, to prevent his psyche from becoming overtaxed. * * * Images invaded Sam's psyche. Just as he thought he'd reached the next place for a leap, something would pull him away. He saw people struggling, a young girl being forced out of her bed at gun point, the same girl being executed as a stake was driven through her chest. He saw a baron castle, one that had once been filled with life and now housed only broken and torn relics. Then he saw no more. * * * "Please, Ziggy," Al said, walking up to the artificial intelligence unit, "tell me you know where Sam leaped to." "Not at the moment, Admiral Calavicci," the computer's feminine voice responded. "But I am evaluating the data rom his two previous coma-induced dimensional leaps and believe I will shortly arrive at a formula to determine Dr. Beckett's exact location." "Will it be possible for me to get in touch with him while he's over there?" "Estimated probability is 76.4%. "Good. Keep working on it, Ziggy. I'm going to go sit beside Sam. Just beep me when you've figured something out." Placing the handlink in the pocket of his jacket, the project observer headed toward the white room where his friend's body lay in a coma state. Staring at Sam's comatose body was painful, almost unbearable for Al. Yet he could not leave his friend's side until there was some way he could help Sam. Every once in a while, Beeks or one of the other project doctors ventured inside the room to routinely check on Sam, but for the most part, the two friends were left alone in silence. After more than an hour, Al's handlink beeped three times. He removed it from his pocket to find it flashing rapidly. Pressing the button that allowed a voice link to Ziggy, he said, "Ziggy, have you figured something out?" "Yes, Admiral," Ziggy replied. "I believe I have located Dr. Beckett." "I'm on my way," Al said, jumping up from his chair. he paused at the doorway to look back at his friend. "I'm coming for you buddy." Rushing into the main lab that housed the artificial intelligence unit, Al found Gooshi waiting for him. "Admiral, I do not think it's a good idea for you to attempt this," the scientist said. "If you make contact with Dr. Beckett, we have no way of knowing whether we can retrieve either one of you." "I cannot just leave him hanging out there somewhere in limbo," Al argued. Al opened the door to the imaging chamber and as he stepped through it, he heard Ziggy say, "Good luck, Admiral." Then he found himself in complete darkness.