From: AKulsum@aol.com
Date: Thu, 7 Nov 1996 03:27:56 -0500
Message-ID: <961107032755_1249103992@emout07.mail.aol.com>
Subject: road 6/9

Here's part 6...extra long to make up for how short 4 and 5 were. BTW, I owe
Pat for the idea in the very beginning...I thought it would be a nice touch
if I added it in after all, Pat.
-amkt <tajuddin@fit.edu>

"The Road Taken" pt.VI

  It was Saturday....finally. Sam had gone about Katrina's job with with
patient tolerance, hoping that Verbeena was making some progress with
Katrina, and Al. He really didn't want to have worked as a secretary for
three days for nothing. Only two more days until the mugging.
  Back in comfortable slacks for the weekend, Sam went out to do some grocery
shopping and then eventually found himself back at Katrina's apartment,
sifting through her book collection. He really wished Al would show up; he
was bored. Again, he resorted to unpacking Katrina's things for lack of a
better way to occupy his time. As he lifted item after item out of a worn
cardboard box, he began to get a feel for who this woman was and he felt like
he knew Katrina better than anyone else he'd leaped into. 
  As Sam pulled out an aphgan from the box and a smaller box slid into view.
Curious, Sam pulled it out and opened it. Tissue paper had been pulled neatly
around the corners of the box and he pulled at a corner. The first layer came
off to reveal a small handbell. He lifted it carefully and inspected it. The
golden paint had chipped off a great portion of the toy, but scratched into
it at the bottom, in unsteady craftmanship were the letters "T.C." Sam ran
his finger along the lettering and then put it aside. The second layer of
tissue paper gave way underneath his tug and a small, blue jacket, lined with
the caked on dirt of at least a couple years' abuse, fell into his lap. He
lifted the jacket and spread it out underneath the light. When he did so, a
shell fell from a pocket and landed at his feet. Sam straightened the edge of
the jacket gently before inspecting the shell. Written on the inside in
clumsy blue marker were, "To: Mom. Love, Al."
  Sam closed his eyes and then tucked the treasures away in the box, just as
they had been before.
  That was when his visitors arrived.
  At the sound of the doorbell, Sam got up, moving his drink from the floor
to the coffee table, and went, hoping maybe it was Susan or Jeff for company.
Instead, two men met his gaze when he opened the door. They looked
threatening just standing there.
  One of them was rather a large man in a half unbuttoned shirt and jeans.
The other had on a black suit and somehow, in spite of his smaller size,
looked considerably more dangerous. "Katrina, darling," he cooed, stepping
into the room. "I'm just stopping by to make sure everything's going okay.
You haven't been keeping up."
  Sam took a step back to put some distance between him and them, but the man
simply stepped further into the apartment. He slid am arm around Sam's waist
and he shivered in revulsion. "Let's talk a moment, doll," he said, leading
Sam over to the couch. "I love what you've done with the place. Lucky thing
we were able to find you, since you left no forwarding address. We need to
talk about all that money you owe me, babe. We wouldn't want to make Tony
over there angry."
  *Money?* Sam knew that Katrina had gotten herself into a number of things
that she was trying to work herself out of now and it only made sense that
she had to get her money for drugs from _somewhere_. *Perhaps it hadn't been
a mugging after all,* Sam mused. Unfortunately, he had no idea how much or
where to deliver it once he'd found it. "Oh," he said casually, "do I owe you
money again?"
  The man laughed. "I always have loved your sense of humor, Katrina. Yes, I
believe you do. By Monday night,  if I'm not mistaken." That statement
confirmed Sam's suspicions and he swallowed.
  "And how much is it that I owe you?"
  Abruptly, the man stopped laughing. He grabbed Sam's arm and twisted it up
painfully behind his back. "I don't have any qualms about hitting a woman,"
he snarled. Sam tried to pull free, but he just pushed harder, causing Sam to
cry out reflexively.
  "Hey!" Al roared from behind him. "Leave him alone!"
  "I was joking," Sam gasped out, relaxing into the hold in an attempt to
ease himself further pain.
  "You nozzles," Al was muttering.
  "I am _not_ amused," the man rasped in his ear, pulling his arm further
back. "You had better have that money for me one way or another Monday night
of you're not going to be able to enjoy this new home of yours for very much
longer." He let go of Sam's arm. "Atta girl," he said, patting Sam on the
head.
  Sam cradled his arm gingerly and glared at them as they saw themselves out.
  "What was _that_ all about?"
  "Take a guess, Al. Katrina owes some very bad people a very large sum of
money by Monday night, that mean anything to you?"
  Al was already punching buttons. "Well, we'll see.... The guy who was
trying to relocate your arm would be one Charles Tommi. He apparantly has the
reputation of leaving people with fewer limbs than they were born with." He
stopped and looked up at Sam. "How are you gonna get the money?"
  "I don't know...I've only been working two days. I certainly don't have a
check coming." 
  Al took a long drag on his cigar and squinted at the screen. "Try sushi,"
he advised with a puzzled glance.
  "Why?"
  "Oh, Susan. Ziggy says to try Susan."
  "That can't work, Al. Don't you think the real Katrina would already have
thought of that?"
  Al shook his head. "Not if she was the proud stubborn type."
  "Like mother, like son," Sam muttered. Al glared, but graciously let it
drop. "Okay, I'll talk to Susan. I'm sure she'll be willing to help out, but
I need to know the amount and who to give it to first. And for that, you'll
need to talk to your mother."
  "Stop calling her that," Al insisted.
  Sam frowned and asked,  "you haven't spoken with her, have you?"
  "I told you I-"
  "You know what I mean, Al," Sam interrupted. Time was running out for all
of them and Sam knew that his partner still hadn't come to terms with the
entire situation. "Did you ever stop to think why you didn't want to tell
her, Al?" Apparantly, push had come to shove.
  "Because I don't care what she thinks."
  "Wrong. You won't tell her because you're afraid of finding out the real
reason she left. You're afraid you weren't good enough or you-"
  "Sam."
  "-didn't do something you should have or-"
  "Sam!" Al looked positively shaken and Sam feared he would leave, but he
just stood there, a number of emotions warring for dominance on his face.
  "You're not a seven year old boy any more, Al," Sam pressed. "You know she
was messed up and she left because of your father, not you."
  "Do I know that, Sam? I mean, in my mind, I know most of my childhood fears
are unjustified, but in my heart...."
  Sam looked into his friend's eyes. "Would she be trying this hard to pull
it all together if she _wasn't_ willing to make an effort?"
  Al broke the gaze. "Then why didn't she come back? She never came back."
  "She was killed, Al," he reminded gently. "Please, Al, go talk to her. If
not for her, then for you. You don't deserve this, pal. Please...."
  ^Al, where are you?^
  "No," Al moaned.
  "You have to face it or it will haunt you forever."
  ^Please come out....I can't see you.^
  "I can't." Sam shot him a concerned look. "I just...can't."
  ^Al?^
  "Al? Are you all right?"
  "Yeah.....I'll try."
  Sam looked relieved. "You can do it, Al. I'll be waiting right here for
you." Al shot him a grateful look and left the Imaging Chamber.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------

  He hadn't looked in on Katrina since he told her about his father, and he
wasn't exactly relishing the visit now. She raised her eyebrows at the
electric blue jacket he wore, but did not comment. It seemed that was the
most he was going to get out of her. *Business before pleasure,* he thought
sarcastically.
  "Sorry to disturb you yet again, but I really have to ask you just a few
more questions. Sam is in a bit of trouble and we need some information."
  "Who _is_ Sam?" she asked, seizing the opportunity to find out what was
going on.
  *Ah well,* Al thought to himself, *she's gonna need to hear the whole story
anyhow if I'm going to tell her.* "Sam is a scientist: Dr. Samuel Beckett.
He's a good friend of mine. He's a time traveller." He paused, waiting for
her reaction.
  "Really?" Katrina sat forward on her seat. "Tell me more." Well, at least
she wasn't calling him crazy - that was promising at least.
  "Well, I won't bother explaining the process to you; sometimes I get a
little confused about it myself, but basically, he travels back in time
inhabiting little pieces of other people's lives. Including yours. That's how
come we keep asking you all these questions: because he's in the middle of
your life. To everyone, he looks like you and you.....you look like him." Al
pulled a mirror out of his jacket and handed it to her, trying not to recoil
as her hand accidentally brushed his when she took it from him.
  She gasped and went a little white upon seeing the reflections, but
otherwise, maintained her composure. "This is Sam?" she asked, pointing to
the mirror. Al nodded. "Incredible."
  "Yeah, tell me about it. So now that you know, let me tell you, you're in
the year 2000."
  "That far?"
  "Yes, and several decades in the past, Sam is trying to save your life, but
it's kinda hard because it seems two guys are interested in turning him into
a pretzel if he doesn't deliver an undetermined sum of money to an unknown
location. You wouldn't be able to help us, would you?"
  "They found out where I live?" she cried, the fear glazing her eyes over.
"Oh no, I don't have the money."
  "How much?" he pressed.
  "Five thousand."
  "Good, Sam is gonna talk to Susan about getting the money."
  She shook her head. "I would never dream of asking her for that kind of
money. You can't."
  "Look, it's your only shot or they're gonna kill you, do you understand?"
She nodded. "Where do we deliver it?" Katrina gave him the address and he
tapped it in, trying to push down the inevitible rise of anger within him as
he did so. "Good," he repeated. "You owe Sam a lot, you know?"
  She looked at him. "Why do you hate me?" she asked bluntly.
  Al stopped and looked at her. "I....don't," he managed.
  "Oh yes you do. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me."
  "I'm....trying not to."
  "That's not what I asked," she pointed out.
  "No. No, it's not. Well, I guess it's because of what you did. I can
understand why you left your husband, but I could never see why you left your
children."
  Katrina nodded. "I understand. I could never really see it myself. I wish I
had an explanation for you, Admiral, but I don't. I mean, I have excuses, but
I can't really tell you why. All I know is that I couldn't stay in that house
one more day. Things were just really bad for me and I did what I thought was
best at the time."
  "You thought that was best?" he asked.
  "At the time." She offered him a wry smile. "I don't now."
  "That's just not good enough," Al snapped.
  "I _know_  it's not good enough," she snapped back at him. "But I can't go
on living in the past. I can't go on punishing myself for what I did or
didn't do. If I do that, I take away my chances to ever become anything in my
future."
  "You should just count your lucky stars that God or fate or time or
whatever thinks you deserve a future."
  She stood up, steaming mad now. "What do you want from me? I told you I was
wrong, I gave you the best explanation I know how to give. I am grateful to
you and Dr. Beckett for all that you have done and are going to do for me,
but I can't seem to figure out exactly where all this resentment is coming
from." Her voice lowered to a cold tone. "What gives you the right?" she
demanded. "Who are you to stand there and lecture me?"
  "Who am I?!" Al ranted. Then abruptly, he lowered his voice, unconsciously
matching the level of her own. "You want to know who I am? All right, I'll
tell you." He paused and then went in all the way. "I'm Admiral Albert
Calavicci."
  Katrina dropped back down into her chair. "You're.....who?" She placed a
trembling hand to her lips and looked into his eyes. "Oh God....it is you. It
all makes sense now." She lowered her hand. "Al," she whispered. A shiver
wracked her body. "I'm so, so sorry."
  He stood in front of the door, as if braced to run. "I hate you," he
whispered, fully aware of the implications of his words. His voice caught in
his throat, but he pressed on, uncertain of where it was coming from, but
knowing he couldn't stop it if he tried. "I hate you for leaving me and I
hate you for letting Trudi die." *That's not fair, Al,* protested a voice
inside his head, but he couldn't call the words back and he couldn't change
the way he felt.
  She shook her head. "I wanted to come back - I did. I even made
arrangements. You - it's been so long...you're older than I am." She wasn't
sure exactly where she got the courage, but she stood up and crossed the
room. She stopped directly in front of him and reached up to touch his cheek.
He flinched, but remained rooted to the spot. "You've carried this around for
a long time, haven't you?"
  "Over fifty years," he choked out.
  "Oh, Al. I am so sorry. I don't know how I could ever-" she cut herself off
and looked back into his eyes.  "I should have recognized those eyes. I
should have known the moment I saw them. You always had the most beautiful
dark eyes." She smiled faintly and lowered her hand. "Tell me what I can do.
I don't think I could live knowing that my son hates me. Please...."
  He turned away in pain. "I don't know. I don't know if I can not....." He
swallowed.  "I mean, you never even came back." He paused and turned to go.
"I really have things to take care of."
  "Wait!" she cried.
  "What?"
  "Don't go. Please, I need to know." She touched his arm and then withdrew
it quickly when she saw the look on his face. "I don't want to lose you
again."
  Her words cut through his pain like a knife. but he still couldn't bear to
be in the room for another minute; the air was stifling. "I'll come back, I
promise," he said, aware of the irony of his words. She nodded and he left.
  Verbeena and Tina were waiting outside for him. He hadn't known that they
knew he was in there, but the looks they both gave him told him that they
knew what he had gone in there for. "Are you okay?" Verbeena asked and when
he nodded, she squeezed his arm and pushed past into the waiting room. He
felt absurdly like a soilder in war, sending in the second wave.
  Tina studied the exchange, thinking that she had never seen Al so drained
before. She took his hand and led him to her office, which was close by, but
he pulled away with an apologetic glance and wandered aimlessly, in the
general direction of his own office. He walked in and shut the door, leaning
against it as if what he felt was something he could keep out of the room.
After a moment he crossed the room and sat down behind his desk. 
  He stared at the wall.
  A part of him wanted to hold onto the hurt, the anger, wanted to punish
that woman for what she had done to him. Was desperate to make her see. And
the other part just wanted it to be over. Forgive and forget, right? Live and
learn. Weren't those the phrases that one lived life by? So why was he so
angry?
  Al clenched his fist, trying to do battle with the conflicting voices, not
exactly sure which one he wanted to win. And then, almost against his will,
certainly against any power of his to stop it, Al sat alone in his office and
watched the hurt and the anger and the bitterness drain out of him, staining
the deep wood of his desktop.
  And all that was left was a hollow feeling that he hadn't decided how to
fill yet.