Previously on Quantum Leap: Skin Deep….

Sam has leaped into the aura of Marvella Voyer, one of identical twins, to solve the mystery of twin Mireille’s untimely demise, and prevent it from happening again.  Feeling the close empathic bond which the twins share, Sam is subjected to some painful experiences, but is determined to help her in any way he can, and at any cost.  So much so, that when he suspects Mireille is being systematically poisoned by arsenic in her Shark liver oil medication, he determines that the only way to be absolutely certain is to take a dose himself. We left our hero on the verge of sampling the dubious elixir, fully expecting it to make him violently ill…

…and now, the concluding part of Skin Deep…

PART FIVE

Sam was startled by the sound of the Imaging Chamber door. He almost choked on the liquid as his hand jerked, pouring a liberal dose of oil into his mouth, which he immediately spat out again, coughing and spluttering. Sam re-corked the bottle and set it back on the nightstand with trembling hands.

“Al! Don’t do that!” Sam complained instinctively.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not Al.” The figure of a tall black man gradually took form over to Sam’s left.

“I know you, don’t I?” and he turned to face a nodding Professor Dominic Lofton.

“Is Al okay?” was Sam’s instant worry.

“He’s still in New Orleans, but he called in, he’s fine. He got Marvella’s consent for the exhumation; they’ll be taking care of it first thing in the morning.”

Sam was looking at him with his head on one side, a frown on his face. He tapped his finger on his lips

“Dan? Don… no… no,“ he shook his head and then pointed, his eyebrows raised. ”Dom, that’s it!”

“Yeah, that’s me, Sam!” Dom was pleased that Sam had recalled his name, and not only because it made communication easier, and was less distracting for the leaper.

“And… your wife! You married Aurora, didn’t you?” Sam couldn’t help but be excited as the memories flooded back, and with them the announcement Ziggy had made.

“Best thing I ever did, Sam,” Dom assured him.

“You must be so excited, congratulations!” Sam reached a hand out to shake his colleague’s, then remembered the futility of the gesture, and let it drop.

Dom, as yet ignorant of his wife’s condition, assumed Sam meant the wedding, which from the Leaper’s perspective had not been so very long ago.

“We’ve been married four years now, Sam,” he corrected.

Sam took that to mean that the upcoming happy event was long planned for and eagerly awaited. He’d missed the wedding; a fleeting thought that it would be nice to be able to make the christening crossed his mind and was banished. Only God knew if he’d be home in time for that. For now, he had a job to do, a fact which Professor Lofton seemed to appreciate too.

Dom pointed at the bottle Sam had almost choked on - concern clear on his face.

“What’s with the medicine? You feeling ill?”

“Not yet,” came the enigmatic reply, followed by an explanation of his thought processes that had led Sam to the conclusion that he had to try the mixture.

“That seems a bit drastic, even for you, Sam.” Dom looked alarmed. “Don’t rush into it. Give Beth time to get the post mortem results.”

He pushed a button on the handlink and Ziggy shimmered into view.

“Has the time of death for Mimi changed at all?” Dom asked her politely.

“The death certificate now points the time of death more accurately at 7.09am on Wednesday, March 6^th, 1957. It seems she has gained a few hours, but beyond that, nothing has changed.” Both men thought they detected a hint of regret in her detached tone.

“Do we have any hints yet on a perp?” Sam enquired. “Or a motive?”

“None,” Dom regretted to inform him.

“Ask Marvella about Heloise.” Sam recalled the strange conversation with Mimi, the mysterious ‘after what happened’ hint.

“Meantime,” he rose determinedly to his feet and grasped the bottle firmly in hand, “if there is even the slightest chance this is to blame, I can’t let her take a drop more.”

Dom nodded his understanding, and his acquiescence in the matter of intelligence gathering, and then made a strategic withdrawal.

Sam crept past Mimi’s still slumbering form, and then made a bolt for the bathroom door. As soon as he reached the washbasin, he opened the bottle, and upended it, spilling the mixture all too slowly down the waste pipe.  He shook the container vigorously to hurry the exit of its contents as if removing the temptation of vodka from an alcoholic’s grasp. It glugged down the drain in fits and starts.

So engrossed was he in his task, that he didn’t hear the soft barefooted padding of his roommate as she came in behind him.

“What did you mean?” she began fairly calmly. “Can’t let me take a drop of what?”

Then Mimi saw what it was he had in his hand, and what he was doing with it.

She rushed forward and made a grab for the medicine, but he twisted out of her reach.

“What are you doing, Ella?” Mimi practically shrieked in his ear. “Give it back. I need that; you know I do. Why would you…?” All the time she was reaching for it and Sam was making sure she didn’t get it. He had hoped to do this before she woke  - to avoid the scene. How he would have explained it afterward he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to say.

The struggle grew more intense as Mimi became increasingly desperate to preserve some of her elixir, whilst Sam remained equally desperate to prevent her from acquiring it. The bottle was not that large, yet it seemed to be taking an eternity to escape through the narrow aperture.

Mimi was panting, screaming, and crying, and pounding on her sister’s arms and body, and lashing out with her foot, striking Sam sharply on the shin. He gasped, and did a little hop, and resisted the urge to stop what he was doing and bend down to rub the sore spot. Mimi continued to berate him verbally, and abuse him physically. But no matter what she did, there seemed to be no end to her sister’s betrayal.

Sam tried to explain in the only way he could,  “I just think it may be doing you more harm than good…”

“Are you crazy? When did you become a doctor? Huh?” Another grab, and her nails raked Sam’s bare arm, drawing blood and making him flinch, but not relent.  “Ella, pleeeaaase don’t do this, I don’t understand why you’d do this to me. Don’t you love me any more?” The thought suddenly seemed to take all the fight out of her, and indeed Sam had been amazed that the invalid had managed to summon such strength and stamina in the first place. She shrank to the bathroom floor, and sat there, her knees drawn up to her chin, hugging herself and sobbing.

Sam stood the bottle upside down over the plughole to drain the last few drops out, and crouched down next to the distraught teenager.

“It’s because I love you that I did it,” he told her gently, wrapping his arms around her, wincing as all the points on his person she’d struck protested the movement. He felt like a piñata donkey after the children had finished with their sticks.

“I d-d-don’t un-under-stand.” Mimi sobbed so hard her whole body shook, and Sam held her close, and pulled her head into his shoulder, and stroked her hair. On some deep level, he really felt the love that Marvella had for her twin, and his own heart ached with a longing to help her. He was not going to let her die. Not on Tuesday night, not on Wednesday morning, not anytime soon.

“I can’t explain it,” he told her sincerely. How could he explain about the arsenic, and the death sentence that hung over her? “Please, Mimi, you just have to trust me, okay?” He pulled back a little, and tilted her head gently so that she had to look him in the eyes.

“Do you really think I could ever do anything to hurt my baby sister?” Thoughts of Katie brought a lump to his throat.

Mimi punched his arm, again, but playfully this time. “Baby sister” was obviously an affectionate nickname that Mimi took exception to.

Though less vehement in its delivery, the punch nevertheless caught him on a blossoming bruise from her earlier attack, and Sam jerked backward from the sting of it, falling on his backside as he struggled in vain to save himself, and hitting his head on the sink with a resounding crack.

“Owwwwwwww!” he yelped, and rubbed the back of his head, whilst screwing up his eyes against the barrage of bright lights that assaulted them.

For a moment, Mimi couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of her sister floundering, arms akimbo, legs shooting out from under her. She looked really comical thudding down on her butt, but as soon as she heard the crack of bone on china, and heard her sister’s cry of pain, Mimi lost all sense of merriment, and shuffled forward to see how badly her sister was hurt. “Ella!” she called in dismay.

All feelings of hurt and betrayal and anger were spent as she was overwhelmed with concern, especially when her sister failed to answer her anguished cry.

“Ella?”

Roles and positions were reversed as Mimi eased her sister out of the danger zone and cradled her head.

“Ella, dawlin’? Can ya hear me?”

Her sister’s hair felt sticky, and a quick look at her hand showed Mimi that there was blood there.

“Ella, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Mimi was breathing fast as panic crept upon her. She didn’t think she’d hit her sister that hard, but now she was afraid she might have killed her.

“Ohhh,” Sam moaned softly and tried to lift his head, but soon gave it up as a bad job.

“El?”

Sam blinked hard and gradually managed to focus on the tearstained face close to his own. The ringing in his ears faded enough for him to discern the voice calling him.

“I- I’m okay, just dazed.” He tried to reassure her.

As if to prove it, he tried to get to his feet, but the floor pitched and rolled beneath his feet like a deck in a force nine gale.

“Whoa, take it easy,” cautioned Mimi. “Bettah sit a spell. Let me take a look.”

Propping him against the side of the bath for support, Mimi gently drew aside the curtain of her sister’s hair, and examined the small cut on her scalp. It looked as sore as she was sure it felt, but it was neither long enough nor deep enough to cause undue alarm.

Mimi took a washcloth and soaked it in cold water. Then she wrung it out and hesitantly applied it to the wound.

“Tssssskkkkkk,” Sam hissed through his teeth in response to both the chill and the pressure, his face contorting with pain.

“Sorry,” Mimi went to remove the offending article, but Sam raised a shaky hand and took hold of it, keeping it applied to the throbbing site of the injury. After a few more moments of intensifying the agony, it began to numb it.

“How’s the sink?” enquired Sam sardonically.

“In a bettah state than you! Ya gawna have a lump there big as a ‘gator egg,” Mimi pronounced, “an’ one heck of a headache too, I bet.”

“Got that already,” confessed Sam. “Feels like the Mardi Gras Parade route’s been diverted through my skull, and the band needs replacing, cos they’re way outa tune!”

Mimi chuckled, even as she sympathized, “Oh, poor sis.”

Then she noticed the bloodied marks on her sister’s arm.    

“Oh my, did I do that? I’m sorry, Ella.” She hastily got to her feet, and rifled through the medicine cupboard. Moments later, she was cleaning the shallow wounds with an iodine solution, making Sam wince again.

“Sor…” she began to apologize again, but Sam forestalled her.

“Ya don’t need to keep apologizing, I’ll live!” he assured her, with a wan smile. “Let’s not fight like that again though, eh, you little tigress!” He gave her a gentle nudge, and she pretended to growl and snarl at him, ‘til she saw him frown.

“I think you should go lie down. Here, let me help you.” She braced herself and held out her arm to assist Ella in getting to her feet.

Sam started to say that he was fine, but as he tried to stand, the walls turned to jelly and started wobbling at him. His legs were of much the same consistency.

He leant on Mimi as they staggered back to their bedroom, and allowed her to help him onto the bed.

“Maybe I will lie down, just for a few minutes,” he conceded, resting his throbbing head on the pillow, “but don’t let me go to sleep - just in case I have a mild concussion.”
         “How come you sound so much like a medic this mornin’, El? You bin takin’ lessons from Doc Coignac?”

“Hardly,” mumbled Sam, but she didn’t hear him.

Sleep was very tempting; he’d had very little of that precious commodity over the past couple of nights. His head felt like a pressure cooker with the valve stuck shut.

PART SIX

Luckily, about five minutes after they’d gone back to bed Xin Qian called them for breakfast and warned them that unless they hurried they were in danger of being late for Church.

Mimi had been on the verge of losing the battle to keep her sister awake.

Sam roused himself sluggishly, and returned to the ring for another round with the washbasin. The cold water on his face felt like a vicious slap from his opponent, but it did help to clear his head a little.

By the time he was dressed and fed, he felt halfway human again, though when Mimi automatically brushed her sister’s hair, before asking her to return the favor, there had been a moment when the bristles made contact with the wound, and he’d thought he was going to pass out in a dead faint from the sudden sharp pain. She had been trying to be as gentle as possible, and was once more contrite, as was Sam forgiving.

The smart Sunday best dress he donned without complaint, but the large brimmed hat he balked at, and in deference to his head wound, he managed to win the compromise of only having to wear it while he was actually in the church.

Both parents had fussed over him throughout breakfast. He told them he’d slipped on a water spill, and neither he nor Mireille mentioned the argument, or its cause. Mimi had already bargained a couple of days of trust without her medication against her sister’s agreement to stay awake, and not to be brain damaged or otherwise permanently debilitated by her injury.

Despite Xin Qian’s protestations over their tardiness, they had been among the first to arrive for the service, and Sam had been forced through the mental gymnastics of making small talk with strangers he was supposed to have known all his life as the church gradually filled. Even so, Sam found it gratifying that the Mass was so well attended.

With each new arrival, Sam tried to glean as much as possible about these people, not only to help him converse, but because he was surreptitiously looking for potential murder suspects. A part of him realized the absurdity of that activity, reasoning that good devout Catholics were not exactly prime candidates for such a horrific crime, but he kept looking nonetheless. Most of the folks were friendly and warm and open, and there were few who didn’t greet the family with genuine affection, and display their pleasure that Mimi was so much better. Several of the older women took hold of Sam by the chin, and commented on how pasty he looked, and most of them mistook the identity of the twins, especially since for once Mimi appeared to be the healthiest of the pair.

Fortunately, the Priest had been lively and charismatic in the delivery of his service, rather than stuffy and boring, so that Sam was able to pay attention and keep the demon sleep at bay, though his head throbbed anew trying to follow the old man, especially given that his Latin was a bit rusty. He wasn’t the only one who was having trouble keeping track of when he should stand, sit or kneel though. There were quite a few, particularly among the younger congregation members, who seemed like they hadn’t a clue what was going on, and were just bobbing up and down by following the cues of their elders. He could almost hear some of them chanting the schoolboy motto – “Latin is a dead language – first it killed the Romans, now it’s killing me!” Not that he had ever subscribed to that attitude; on the contrary, he had always found it to be a most fascinating subject.

Sam’s study of the adolescents led his eye to rest on one particular young lady, about the same age as the twins so far as he could tell. He hadn’t seen her come in, and she had certainly not come over to chat before the service. Initially it was the veil on her hat that drew his curious stare, and once he realized he was staring, he hastily looked away, self-consciously. He had had no intention of singling this girl out for attention, and presumed that she had endured more than her fair share of stares. For even through the veil, Sam had seen that her face was horrifically scarred. It looked as if she had been badly burned, and he was suddenly reminded of Laura Fuller and the fire that had claimed her husband Clayton’s life.

The memory of his own narrow escape from that inferno made him shudder, and he almost missed the cue to kneel. He dipped down hurriedly, feeling himself color in embarrassment.

After that, he spent the rest of the service keeping his mind firmly on the business at hand; with no more than an occasional glance at Mireille by his side to be sure she was coping. She was - admirably.

Consequently, he didn’t register the opening of the Imaging Chamber door just as they were making their way down the aisle and out through the huge wooden doors.

Al could have barged right through the crowd, literally, but he followed his natural instinct and bobbed and weaved around the outskirts trying to get close to Sam, to tell him what he’d learned.

He caught up with his partner at the bottom of the steps, just as the time traveler removed his hat, and rubbed his head with a frown.

“Still hurting, El?” asked a concerned Mireille, glancing at the back of her sister’s head to make sure the constriction of the hat brim had not started the wound bleeding again.

Al was on instant alert, and took a peek for himself, tutting at the size of the lump and the small scab that was evidence of a cut.

“What happened, Sam? Are you okay?”

Sam swung round and nearly lost his footing, startled by Al’s unexpected voice behind him. He teetered on his high heels, and only Mimi’s steadying hand on his left, and Raoul’s on his right, kept him from falling.

“Ella?” The family chorused in perfect harmony.

Sam covered his reaction with a half-truth, whilst attempting to reassure all worried onlookers, both visible and invisible.

“I just felt a little dizzy for a moment, I’m fine now.”

“Come over here, sit down, airen,” insisted the diminutive matriarch, and accepting no arguments she led Sam to a low wall, and patted it to indicate where he should park his carcass.  Sam complied without protest, though he glared at the hologram, silently castigating him for giving him such a shock.

Mireille flanked him on the other side, and whispered in his ear so that their parents wouldn’t hear.

“I’m so sorry, Ella, I never meant to hurt you like that.”

“She attacked you?!?!” an astounded Al queried.

“It was nothing, a silly misunderstanding,” Sam whispered back, making sure that Al picked up on it. He still had a bit of a headache, and would rather the whole incident hadn’t happened, but it all seemed to be getting blown out of proportion. He had more important things on his mind, and he was hoping Al could give him some long awaited answers. He didn’t see any easy way to ditch the relatives so that he could talk to Al properly. They’d never go on ahead and let him hang around to look for a friend or anything, not when they were being so overprotective. He didn’t want to have to play word-games around them, but neither did he want to have to wait until they got home and he could be ‘alone’ to hear what Al had to say.

Fortunately, his dilemma was partially solved when a middle-aged couple came over to their family group. Having established that Mireille was not the one feeling poorly and that Marvella was fine, really, thank you for asking (Sam had to stop himself from gritting his teeth. These people were being friendly and caring, and he should feel flattered that they bothered to ask after his well-being, rather than annoyed at the constant fussing) they engaged the elder Voyers in conversation about he cared not what, drawing them off to one side, and leaving him only Mimi to worry about.

Tilting his head to one side and lifting his eyebrows, Sam let Al see that he was ready to listen, even if he couldn’t respond.

Al cleared his throat and straightened his tie, and Sam shot him a ‘get on with it’ look.

“You were 100% right, spot on, bang on the money, Sam,” Al finally informed him.

“Beth says there is no doubt whatsoever that Mireille,” he shifted uncomfortably and averted his eyes from the young lady in question, “uh, Mimi died of chronic arsenic poisoning. She said that from the traces she found in um, the hair and… and whatnot, even after all this time, the uh, victim must have ingested considerable amounts over about a month, escalating over the last few days.”

Sam nodded. It followed the pattern he knew about. Mimi’s latest bout of illness had begun a little over three weeks before, and had been getting steadily worse, it’s effects accumulating as the arsenic built up in her system. And prior to his intervention, her solution had been to take increasingly frequent doses of the medicine that was killing her. Sam was convinced now more than ever that the shark liver oil was the source of the contamination. It was the only thing that made any kind of sense. Despite the bumps and bruises, Sam was glad he’d disposed of it, though he realized that he had destroyed the evidence that may be needed to secure the prosecution of the perpetrator. Still - one step at a time, he told himself. Saving Mimi’s life was the important thing; anything more was gravy. 

“You may be on the right track with Heloise too, Sam,” Al went on.

“I don’t know what you know, but Marvella was very reluctant to talk about it. It took ‘Bena an age to get her to open up.”

Sam looked at him quizzically.

“Are you okay, Ella?” Mimi put in. “You’re very quiet.”

“I’m fine; just letting the fresh air clear my head,” Sam replied.

People were still milling around outside the church, chatting in ones or twos or larger groups, exchanging news and gossip and generally being sociable. Sam suggested to Mimi that she may wish to seek out some of her friends, and shouldn’t feel tied to her sister’s side.

“I promise, I won’t go anywhere, I’m just gonna sit right here.”

After a brief protest, Mimi spotted someone she wanted to chat to, and with a last glance at Marvella, who waved her away with a smile, she moved off a little distance.

Sam sighed with relief, as Al moved to ‘sit’ next to him on the wall.

“Well?” Sam urged, “What’s this about Heloise, how does she tie in with the twins?”

“They were all best friends at school, Sam. Went everywhere did everything together, practically joined at the hip, you know…”

“Until a boy came between them?” guessed Sam, remembering Mimi’s cryptic comments.

“Not at all,” Al corrected. “It was a bottle of acid actually.”

If Sam hadn’t been sitting already, he’d have been knocked down with shock by Al’s statement. He stared at his friend incredulously.

“Wha-aat!” he started to shriek, but tailed off rapidly as heads turned towards him, and hid his mouth with his hand as he pretended to cough as a cover.

He raised his other hand with a thumbs-up gesture in response to questioning looks and comments, to show that he wasn’t in need of any assistance.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam interrogated Al in a harsh whisper, with his hand still shielding his mouth.

“Apparently,” Al continued, getting up and pacing as he recounted his tale, “a couple of years ago Mimi was caught talking in class and Heloise was wearing too much make up, or her skirt was a half centimeter too short or some such silly nonsense, so they were both kept back after lessons by this dragon of a teacher, and as punishment they were told to clean up the science labs. Heloise’s boyfriend Mallory was there with a couple of his friends, and they were showing off in front of the girls, teasing them with the leftover cadavers from the dissection class. One of the boys threw a rat at Heloise, and she ducked, just as Mimi picked up a bottle of acid to put it away.

Her hand got knocked, or she jumped cos she was startled, but one way or another, the whole bottle spilt all over Heloise’s face. By all accounts she was horrifically scarred, real bride of Frankenstein stuff.”

Al turned in his pacing, and found himself about to walk straight through one of the congregation so that he was at once nose to nose with her veiled face, her marred complexion clearly visible even behind the mask.

It was his turn to shriek and recoil, doing an ungainly pirouette and almost falling into Sam’s lap.

In other circumstances, Sam would have found his holographic friend’s dance extremely comical, but he was careful not to laugh as the unwitting object of Al’s discomfort looked right at him.

Sam knew who she was without a shadow of a doubt; the young woman his eyes had been drawn to in church had to be the unfortunate Heloise. Sam gave her an embarrassed smile, whilst putting her to the top of the suspect list. She certainly had a strong enough motive to want to see Mimi suffer.

“You okay, Ella?” Heloise enquired, and she sounded genuine in her casual greeting. If she bore a grudge, it didn’t extend to Mireille’s twin.

“Fine, thanks, Heloise, how you doin’?” he replied, trying to keep his tone as casual as hers had been.

“Mustn’t grumble.” Her reply was cheery. She didn’t seem bitter and twisted by the hand fate had dealt her. But then, openly angry people tended to crimes of passion with a knife or a gun, out in full view and hang the consequences. Only people with a secret, gnawing resentment resorted to poisoning.

Before Sam could decide if he should engage her in further superficial chat, or just come right out and accuse ’an old friend’ of being a cold blooded killer, the decision was taken from him as her father led Heloise away, saying they had to get home.

It was two hours after Sunday lunch, and Mimi hadn’t been sick once all day.

She’d still suffered some pretty agonizing stomach cramps; Sam had felt enough ‘echoes’ to know that, and she’d visited the bathroom rather more frequently than was normal. Still, Sam reasoned, it was too soon to expect all the symptoms to have vanished. The poison had been building up in her system for so long that the effects were bound to linger. At least she was keeping her food down.

Mimi was feeling so much better that she again sought permission to go and watch the parades. Sam had severe reservations, not only because she was not yet back to full strength, but also because he had stopped her taking her medication. Whilst that was having the advantage of keeping the arsenic at bay, it also meant that she was susceptible to infection, since the shark liver oil had been introduced to boost her deficient immune system in the first place. Putting herself in amongst a huge crowd of potentially germ-infested people did not seem like a sensible move to Dr Beckett. Of course, when he quite sensibly put that argument to Mireille, she had teased her sister again about sounding like a doctor, and even went so far as to suggest Marvella should consider training as a nurse.

“Listen, Ella,” she reasoned, “I appreciate ya concern, really I do, but I ain’t never let my illnesses hold me back, you know that, and I ain’t about to start now.”

Sam had to admire her for that. She could so easily have become a ‘professional victim’, bleating about her lot and making excuses for herself.

“Besides,” she pressed, “I feel better than I have for weeks.” She leaned over and pecked Sam on the cheek with a wink by way of saying ‘thanks to you!’, and then she got up and almost danced round the room. “Don’t I deserve a little fun?” she stopped in front of where Sam was sitting, and crouched down so that she was at eye level, giving him a pleading, puppy-dog look, her hands clasped together in supplication. “Please, Ella, Momma will listen to you. Persuade her to let me go, please, please, pleeeeease. I promise I’ll stick by your side like glue, and I’ll be good and not overdo it, and if I get too tired I swear I’ll ask you to bring me home and…”

Sam relented. Maybe he was being a bit overprotective, and driven too much by his own shy dislike of crowds and spectacle. At least they were only going to watch the parades, and he was not being asked to put the outrageous butterfly suit back on. He fervently hoped that he would never have to wear that monstrosity again.

After a short streetcar ride, and a gentle stroll, chatting to folks they met on the way, they arrived at the corner of St. Charles and Jackson early enough to secure good places near the front of the crowd, almost halfway into the Uptown parade route.

By the time the sirens sounded and the mounted police rode through clearing the streets for the approaching floats, almost everyone around them was laden with armfuls of souvenirs, and popcorn and candy-floss and all sorts of treats, bought from street vendors who could all give Al a run for his money with their colorful attire. There was a tremendous party atmosphere; everyone was in full carnival mood, and Sam found his initial reluctance swallowed up by the feelings of bonhomie that surrounded him.

He had to admit the procession was truly spectacular, with the krewe of Mid-City’s theme of ‘Songs Children Sing’ lending a charm to the bands’ repertoire that was hard to resist.

Sam even found himself caught up in the excitement of the riders throwing favors to the crowd, gaudy beads and doubloons and tissue paper flowers. Everyone around him, Mimi included, was stretching up trying to catch something, like spinsters desperate to snatch a bridal bouquet.

A doubloon slipped through his fingers, and instinctively he bent down to retrieve it where it fell, committing the cardinal error of Carnival. Inevitably, his more streetwise neighbor - a woman of more than ample proportions - stamped down hard upon it, staking her claim on the prize to be garnered later, by literally staking Sam’s hand with her spiked heel. He yelped in surprise and pain, snatching his hand in toward his body once it was apologetically released, then he staggered back out of harm’s way.

Mimi turned at the shrill sound, and saw her sister clutching her right hand tightly with her left, her face pale and her breath coming in snatches. Putting her arms protectively round Marvella’s shoulders, she led her through the throng, gently nudging people aside, ‘til they managed to retreat away from the action into the relative calm of the side street, where they found a friendly front porch step to sit on. Not a moment too soon for Sam, who was feeling dizzy and disoriented, and not a little queasy.

Mimi was fretful. Ella had been making guttural complaints in her throat the whole way. She was evidently in some considerable pain.

“Here, let me take look.” Mimi commanded.

Looking bemused, Ella let her sister pry her left hand from her right and inspect the damage. It was worse than she anticipated, and Mimi gasped. There was a deep puncture wound in the fleshy part between thumb and forefinger, and it was bleeding copiously. In addition, the two fingers furthest from the thumb had been stomped on brutally, and were already swollen and going black from severe bruising. Albeit gentle, the touch of her sister’s hand made Ella wince in pain, and snatch her hand away.

 “Can you move your fingers, are they broken?” Mimi queried in alarm.

“Now you sound like the doctor!” Sam teased, trying to quell her fears.

Sam tried, very cautiously, bending his fingers, “Achhhh!” his face screwed up in agony.

“Ella?”

 “Not broken,” he decided, “but oh boy, do they hurt!”

“I bet,” commiserated Mimi.

He was breathing heavily, and moisture stung his eyes. He held the injured hand close to his body, trying to keep it elevated. “Damn, they’re throbbing like crazy!”

“It’s a good thang Pappa cayn’t hear ya cussing, El!” Mimi sounded shocked.

Mimi had reached into her purse and taken out a clean white linen handkerchief. Between them, they bound it round the wound, where it quickly dyed itself a delicate shade of pink.

“Now we know why Momma always makes us bring a clean hankie!” Mimi hugged her sister, who was trying hard to put a brave face on her injury. She was not fooling her twin though, who knew instinctively just how badly the crushed digits and pierced flesh were distressing Ella.

“Aahh, I sure could use some ice on it,” Sam confessed.

Mimi looked over her shoulder at the front door of the house, “I’ll go see if anyone’s home, will ya be all right out here on ya own?”

Sam nodded, more desperate for ice to soothe the burning pain than he was for company. The last time he could remember pain like this was when he’d trapped his hand in his wardrobe door, trying to shut his diary away from Katie’s prying eyes. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen, and she was eight or nine. She’d cried harder than he had, scared of the trouble she’d be in for causing her brother’s injury, even unwittingly. Though he’d put on the brave big brother act, he recalled how the fingers had hurt like hell for days afterwards, swelling and stiffening up. Katie had done a number of his chores that he couldn’t manage, with surprisingly little complaint, and there had been a lot less horsing around between them for a while.

Engrossed in his recollections, Sam had not noticed someone approaching the house, and stopping in surprise at finding her way to her front door barred by a hunched up figure on the step.

”Ya waiting on me, Ella? I’da thought you’d’ve been at the parade.”

“Wha…?” Sam shook himself out of his reverie, and was amazed to find Heloise standing before him.  “Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t even realize this was your house,” adding silently to himself ‘If I had, there’s no way I would have let Mimi step into the lion’s den.’ Of course, there was no way the time traveler could have been expected to know, but he held out his injured hand to explain ‘Marvella’s’ distraction.

“Oh my, that looks nasty.” Once more Heloise seemed genuine in her concern, though a momentary look of hurt crossed her scarred face when Ella failed to recognize her abode.

“What happened?” Heloise crouched down for a closer look.

When Sam explained how he’d been trampled, Heloise shook her head, “I declare, Ella, I thought ya learned better than that when we was six years old! Remember how I got trod on? Not as bad as this though. You should get ice on that, c’mon inside.”

Heloise started to stand, holding out her hand to help her friend up.

Sam swallowed, figuring he had to take the opportunity providence had given him.

“Mimi’s gone to ask for some,” he explained, wondering how he was going to broach the delicate subject that was preying on his mind. “I’m feeling a bit faint still, from the bleeding I guess.” He was a tad light-headed, but played it up for effect, “Sit with me a minute?”

Heloise complied without hesitation.

“We had some great times together, the three of us, when we were small, didn’t we?” Sam picked up on Heloise’s recollection, but he knew as much from what Al had told him too. He wanted to keep it casual, friendly, not to arouse her suspicions as to his suspicions. Not yet.

“We surely did!” Heloise smiled, shaking her head in reminiscence of mischief shared.

“I wish things were still the same between us.” For a moment, Sam left the thought to hang in the air, hoping to provoke an outburst from Heloise that would lead to her confession. It didn’t come.

“Circumstances change. People change,” was all she said, a wistful look in her eyes.

Sam had no idea how long Mimi would be gone. His fingers ached for her return with the soothing ice, but he wanted this out in the open without her overhearing it. No more time for subtle innuendo and tactful build-ups.

“Enough to murder an old friend?” he made sure he was looking her right in the eye, both to show his seriousness, and to look for her reaction. It was not one of guilt, but rather of bewilderment.  “What are ya saying, Ella? What happened to me was an accident! Wasn’t it?”

Heloise gasped and jumped to her feet, she seemed to think Sam was implying she had been deliberately maimed.

“Of course it was. But it changed your life, didn’t it? Your beautiful face disfigured forever. You must be angry about what it’s done to you; resentful, bitter, vengeful. You must want to get back at the person who ruined everything for you. Don’t you?” His tone was deliberately accusatory.  “That’s why you’re poisoning Mimi, isn’t it?” 

Heloise rounded on him, “What on earth are ya talkin’ bout, Ella?” Her facial expression was one of genuine shock and distress.

“I reckon that bump on ya head I heard about has addled ya brains.”

The thought seemed to calm her a little, and taking a deep breath, she sat back down, and took Sam’s uninjured hand in her own. This time, it was Heloise who held unwavering eye contact.

“First, I don’t know nothing about Mimi being poisoned, I swear it, Ella. But we’ll come back to that.”

Sam opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance, “Second, I ain’t never wanted revenge for what happened. Not for a moment. I know it was nothing but being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m shocked and hurt far worse now, that ya should think me so shallow.”

“So why aren’t we all so close anymore, huh, if all’s forgiven?”

“I don’t need to tell ya that, El, surely? My folks had to sell up to pay my medical bills, and we moved over here. So we don’t see each other quite as often as we used to. Simple as that. But we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“I hope so,” Sam looked at the sincerity in her eyes, and wanted to believe her. He was inclined to believe her. Then came the real shocker.

“Lastly, dawlin’,” Heloise patted his hand, which she was still holding, “why would I be poisoning Mimi anyway? We both know it was you in that lab that day, not yer sister, now don’t we?”  

PART SEVEN

“B-b-but…” Sam spluttered, eyes wide, not sure how to respond to this bombshell.

“How long have I known? I’ve always known. C’mon now, El. I never had any trouble telling you two apart! I know how sick Mimi was that day, and how upset she was at old Mrs. Giroflée telling her off. So you covered for her and took her punishment. I knew soon as you walked in that lab, but I didn’t let on, not then nor later. Then…” she paused, and a sad look filled her eyes with moisture, “Well, then this happened. And Mimi was more scared of being in trouble with the old giraffe for skipping her punishment than she was for getting the blame for this.” She waved a hand toward her disfigurement.
         “I begged you never to tell anyone, Ella! You promised you’d never tell!” Mimi had come back out of the house in time to hear this last bit of Heloise’s speech. Her tone was critical.

“She didn’t need to tell me, Mimi,” Heloise reiterated, “I knew. Course I knew. Didn’t make no difference. I never blamed neither one of y’all.”

Sam was thoroughly ashamed of himself, that he had so completely misjudged Heloise. He winced as much in embarrassment as from the strain on his hand when all three spontaneously grabbed each other in a group hug.

Heloise saw Ella’s pained expression, and mercifully forgetting her intention to go back to discussing the matter of Mimi’s poisoning, she insisted both girls go inside for lemonade, and so that Ella’s hand could be properly cleaned up and seen to.

Once the wound had been treated and the whole hand had been immersed in a towel ‘mitt’ full of ice for a while, Sam was able to all but ignore the dull ache the injury had become.

The girls sat around drinking lemonade and reliving old times, and Sam sat and listened, hoping to discover something that would lead him to a new suspect. Naturally, he kept rather quieter than the other two, and made do with responding to the inevitable “Do you remember the time…?” questions with non-committal replies such as “How could I forget?”

The next day or so was exasperatingly spent in much the same delicate dance; trying not to give himself away, whilst getting someone else to show their hand.

The former he was used to, he did it on every leap, and he’d gotten to be pretty good at it. The latter was another matter. Everything he learned pointed to what Marvella had told Al: that Mimi was a kind and caring and popular individual, and had no enemies. The evidence was overwhelming; everywhere they went, everyone they talked to, confirmed this assessment and only the certainty of Beth’s autopsy report kept him from thinking he’d been as mistaken about the whole poisoning idea as he had been about Heloise’s desire for retribution.

The only ray of light in the darkness of his frustration was that Mimi continued to look and feel better, her stomach cramps and other symptoms becoming less severe, fewer and further between.

By Tuesday morning, Sam began hoping that whoever it was, having realized they’d been thwarted, had rethought the whole thing and decided to give up before they got caught.

He said as much to Al when he popped in for a routine call, finding Sam in the shared bedroom again. Sam began excitedly considering ways to manage Mireille’s underlying medical condition in order to improve her long-term quality of life.

“A bone marrow transplant from Marvella would solve a lot of her problems,” he postulated, “being identical, there shouldn’t be too many rejection issues…”

Before he got completely carried away, a pragmatic parallel hybrid computer burst his bubble.

“Whilst I concur that such a procedure would have a 93.87% chance of success, Dr Beckett, I must remind you that you are currently in 1957.  Bone marrow transplants will not become commonplace for another 30 years from their perspective. Should Miss Mireille survive until that time, and her sister too of course, and then this would be an ideal solution. However, current data indicates that both sisters will now be murdered at 9:43am this morning at the Mardi Gras parade.”

“How can both sisters die, you stupid silicon-coated scuzz-bucket?” Al challenged. “Marvella is safe and sound in the Waiting Room.”

“Indeed,” confirmed Ziggy, scowling at the Admiral. “Consequently, Dr Beckett must either prevent the murders, or leap out before they are committed, or else he will be killed in her stead.”

“Oh boy!” breathed Sam, looking pale, and sinking down onto the bed. Sam was still wearing his dressing gown. He drew it close around himself, as if he were feeling cold.

“You okay, Sam?” Al enquired, somewhat redundantly.

Sam drew in a deep breath and held it, before letting it go slowly.

“I just wish you could have told me all this half an hour ago, before I was stupid enough to let Mimi talk me into going to the parade with her again.”

He held up his still bandaged hand. “Me and parades don’t seem to go too well together.”

“Don’t worry, Sam, that was your three,” encouraged Al, with a little too much joviality to be genuine.

Sam looked perplexed.

“You know, they say bad things – like injuries – go in threes? Well, first you had that voodoo thing, then the bump on your head, then your fingers, so you’ve had your three. You’re safe now!” The hand not holding Ziggy’s link reached in his pocket to retrieve a cigar, and to hide his crossed fingers.

“Can you not simply tell Mireille that you have changed your mind?” Ziggy intoned, with her inimitable logic.

“If only,” sighed Sam. “It took her half the night to talk me into saying yes. She’s in the bathroom now preening herself in front of the mirror. She already has her basic costume on. I’ve been procrastinating for the last half hour, not wanting to get back into mine.” He waved a hand to where the butterfly ensemble hung on the wardrobe door, in all its iridescent glory.

“Can’t say I blame you,” empathized Al, remembering what a spectacle Sam had looked when he first leaped in, and what unpleasant memories it was bound to stir.

“Run some scenarios, Zig.” Sam tried not to sound as desperate as he felt, but his tone betrayed him nonetheless. “What happens to the twins if we don’t go out this morning?”

Ziggy’s holographic form blinked.

“Odds of 99.28% that they will be the victims of a hit and run tomorrow,” she stated blandly. “Both will be severely injured, and suffer painfully over the course of the next few weeks. Finally, Mimi will succumb first due to her deficient immune system, and then Ella will lose her will to fight once her sister dies, thus dying several days later.”

 “And if I prevent that?” Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any more.

With barely a pause for thought, Ziggy calculated the new history.

“Both sisters and their parents will die in a house fire.”

Sam closed his eyes momentarily and tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

“Boy, somebody really wants ‘em dead!” observed Al.

“And I really want them to live,” Sam pronounced. He wanted to live, too, but didn’t feel the need to say so.

“I take it the first scenario is the one you have the most reliable information on?” he queried.

“Obviously” Ziggy confirmed.

“Apart from the sisters - or Mimi and myself, whichever - are any other innocent people injured in today’s attack?”

“Negative.”

“How are they – we - murdered? What’s the cause of death?”

Sam was talking fast, wanting this settled one way or another, and yet not wanting to think too deeply about what fate potentially awaited him.

“Multiple stab wounds,” replied Ziggy dispassionately.

Images of another masked group, the masks made not of Mardi Gras fabric but from freaky whacked out clown-like make-up, and a crazed, disguised figure pulling a knife on him from the crowd, suddenly filled Sam’s mind, and he shuddered. That had been a close call. He didn’t need a closer one.

“Right. Memo to self - Avoid sharp objects. Got it.”

With a determined expression and a shrug of his shoulders, Sam stood up and shucked off his dressing gown, revealing himself to be naked save for a panty girdle.

“Don’t even think it!” he shot over his shoulder at Al, as he hastily scrambled his way into the skin-tight carapace.  “Why don’t you do something useful?” Sam suggested, “Go ahead to the parade route, and see if you can spot anyone acting suspiciously. Meet us there…”

“You got it!” Al acknowledged the unspoken request to be sure and watch out for Mimi, and to guard Sam’s back.

In the blink of an eye, he and Ziggy had departed, just as Mimi came back in and chivvied her sister to hurry up before they missed the start of the fun. Moving round behind him, Mimi grabbed hold of the laces that attached to the corset lining, steadied them both by placing a knee in the small of his back, and pulled tight. Sam gasped and grabbed at the wardrobe as the breath was literally squeezed out of him, and he felt as if his ribs would cave in under the pressure.

“Stop, enough!” he breathed desperately, but naught save a sigh made it past his lips. Mimi pulled the laces harder still.

“I declare, Ella, I think you’ve put on a little weight!” Her knee dug further into his spine, and he almost fell forward. While one hand grabbed for some support, the other tried to wave instruction to cease the relentless, agonizing tugging. He could feel the cords digging into his flesh as she finally decided they would tighten no further, and began to tie them off. ‘No wonder women used to swoon so much,’ Sam thought, as he fought to get air into lungs that felt as deflated as balloons that had zoomed round the party room after their knots had been untied.

By the time she had zippered the outer casing around him, Sam was thinking ruefully that the butterfly was supposed to emerge out of the restrictive cocoon, not be squashed back into it. He looked longingly at the bed behind him, and wished he could just collapse on it, loosen his straight jacket, and catch some zees.

Knowing this was impossible, he took a series of shallow breaths, and let Ella lead him on to the parental lecture obligatory before leaving.

It was mercifully short. Xin Qian remarked, as if reminder were necessary, that though stunning in their beauty, their costumes weren’t designed for hurrying in – in fact they could barely walk in them, Sam had even greater problems due to the addition of the high-heeled sandals.

Taking tiny steps like geishas they made their way to the front door, and there fixed on the outlandish headpieces, and the masks that framed their eyes and supposedly disguised their identities. They carried the wings, to be donned once they got there, lest they be damaged on the way.

Though the two butterflies were ostensibly identical, with the same long purple ribbed-bodies, and the same gaudy wings, a close observer would notice that the swirls and patterns on those wings varied slightly from one to the other, a patch of green replaced with one of yellow, a smudge of purple becoming green.

Had Sam been looking on from the outside, he might have admired the workmanship, the glorious splendor of the creations. From inside, all he could think was that he looked and felt ridiculous, his feet were killing him after the first half dozen steps, and he could barely breathe for the tightly laced inner bodice that held the whole thing in place.

By the time they joined the joyous crowds, fully kitted out, Sam was starting to wonder if he needed a mad knife-wielding murderer to finish him off, or if the costume would manage the job all by itself.

Mimi was relaxed and thoroughly enjoying herself, milling around, chatting with friends, comparing costumes. Most of their circle of friends seemed to have adopted the insect theme, or small animals, fish and birds – there were ladybirds and bumblebees, caterpillars and grasshoppers, dragonflies, humming birds, angelfish and all manner of other colorful creatures. Sam was put in mind of the hymn “All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small,” especially when he espied the costumes of another group of revelers, who had chosen the larger members of the animal kingdom – tigers and leopards, piebald ponies and zebras, and giraffes, along with mythical beasts-- dragons and phoenix and griffins. It was quite a menagerie.

They had finally settled in position toward the end of the route, near Gallier Hall where this year’s King of Carnival, Mr. Clifford F. Favrot, would toast the Mayor and receive the keys to the city. Once the ‘School of Design’ floats started to roll toward them, Sam realized that these revelers in the crowd could also fit in with this year’s Rex krewe theme, which was “Favorite Stories from the Old Testament”. Any one of them could have stepped off Noah’s Ark!

Al had dressed in a shimmering suit, which appeared green or blue according to how the light caught it. His tie was a huge peacock feather. Normally, he’d have stood out in the hugest crowd, but in this one he was swallowed up into virtual insignificance.

Nevertheless, he kept close to his charges, making sure Sam knew where he was, and kept a watchful eye on anyone who got within striking distance. It was no easy task, for the crowd pressed in upon itself as everyone vied for the best position to see the cavalcade and to be seen and to catch the favors. Sam kept his hands well and truly to himself this time.

The noise and the bustle and the confusion were overwhelming.

There was so much glitz and shimmer that spotting the glint of sun on a blade was a near impossibility. Twice, Al started to warn Sam of impending danger, only to realize he was reacting to props that embellished outlandish costumes. He would have laughed at dodging the snout of a swordfish, were it not for Ziggy’s dire prediction.

Consequently, Al hesitated for a split second when a huge black spider descended toward the twins, pushing his way through the crowds, costumed tentacles waving randomly. Then he saw the right arm, with its two extra cloth ones mimicking every move, swing out – poised to strike, and he yelled:

“Sam! The spider! Watch out!”

Already keyed-up and on edge, tired from lack of sleep, jumpy from the false alarms, Sam took another split second to react. He saw the black arms plunging toward them, and instinctively dealt a left-handed karate blow to the inner elbow, deflecting the weapon from its course. Though it missed the prime target of Mimi’s heart, the spider’s long sharp flick knife sank its blade at an angle into her side.

“Mimi!” shrieked Sam, matching her own shrill shriek of pain. As the attacker drew back his arm, retrieving his weapon and melting back into an oblivious crowd, Sam caught Mimi as she sank to the ground, crumpling her glorious wings behind her.

Cradling her in one arm, he pressed his other hand to the wound that oozed scarlet blood, lost to view as it seeped into the purple ribbing of the body suit.

“I’m on him, Sam!” Al assured the leaper, as he instructed Dom to make sure he remained centered on the retreating figure of the arachnid.

“Hang in there, Mimi,” Sam whispered to the pale trembling figure in his lap.

The wound was mercifully shallower than the perpetrator had intended, but deep enough to be painful, and to be causing her significant blood loss.

Sam knew how much it hurt. He could feel it. By a strange coincidence, the knife had struck Mimi in the exact corresponding spot to where Sam still bore the scar of Lothos’ branding iron-- just below the ribs on the left. The stronger than ever echoes he could feel of her fresh wound re-awoke the searing agony of his old one and he blinked hard, swallowing down his own pain as he sought to comfort her in hers.

“Somebody, help me here!” He cried out, torn between wanting to tend to Mimi, and wanting to hunt down the monster that had hurt her, and stop him from being able to hurt her ever again. Sam couldn’t understand why people weren’t flocking to see what was amiss. It felt as if they had been ignored for a long time, but in reality the whole incident had been over in moments, and barely any time had passed.

His yell for assistance gradually penetrated the distracted crowd’s consciousness, and one by one they tore their rapt attention from the parade to see what was going on at their feet.

Meantime, he fumbled at the sashes that held her wings in place, ‘til they came loose and he could lift them out of the way. He ripped at the seams until the sashes parted company from the wings, and used the long broad bands of cloth –one wadded up to put pressure on the wound, the other to bind it tight to her body, helping to stem the flow of her precious life’s fluid. It was an awkward maneuver, but one he managed with professionalism.

By this time, another girl was bending close, and helped him with the final tying off of his makeshift bandages. She was wearing a far less cumbersome costume, obviously a glowworm by the almost blindingly bright headdress, a costume that Sam suddenly found familiar. Its wearer had been finishing her fitting of it at the dress-shop when he’d first leaped in, just as he felt the first stirrings of the stabbing pains. She had helped to look after him then. Now what was it that the dressmaker called her? Jennie, that was it!

“Thanks, Jen,” Sam smiled at her as she helped him minister to Mimi.

“Will she be okay?” Jennie looked a little scared and out of her depth, yet genuinely compassionate.

“She’d better be.” Anger burned deep within Dr Beckett, as fierce as the red-hot iron that had branded his side.

He heard voices telling him that the police and medical assistance were on their way, almost there. He heard Al’s voice tell him that the assailant had not gone far, and was hiding beneath the bleachers a short distance away, looking like he was planning his next move.                                                       

Sam dared wait no longer. He couldn’t risk the spider striking again. Exhorting Jennie to take care of Mimi and to tell the police what had happened, he kicked off his sandals, and shucked off the inhibiting wings and antenna. Then, with a muttered apology to Mme Lavergne, he found the side seam of the full-length mummification she called a body suit, and ripped it from hem to thigh, so he could move at least a little more freely. 

“What are you doing?” Jennie put out a hand to restrain Ella as she divested herself of her costume, unable to comprehend her instructions or her actions. She had expected Ella to want to stay with her sister.

“I’m going to find the creep who did this and make sure he doesn’t get away with it.” Sam was seething, but his anger was directed almost as much to himself for not protecting Mimi better. The injury didn’t look life threatening in itself; it hadn’t been deep enough to damage any vital organs. Yet with her deficient immune system, Mimi could easily succumb to an infection in the wound.

“He’s probably miles away by now!” reasoned Jennie.

“I have a hunch he’s sticking close,” Sam countered, to which Al nodded, waving his arms to indicate the direction Sam should take, “and I’m not gonna give him a chance to finish what he started.”

Jennie looked alarmed, a little afraid that she could be in a perilous position herself, but also worried for her friends.

“Leave it to the police, El!” she pleaded. “If he is still around, he’s dangerous. You could end up hurt worse than Mimi.”

Part of Sam heard the wisdom of her words, and wished he could heed them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that cut and dried when you were Leaping for a living.

“Just see Mimi gets to the hospital, please Jen,” Sam repeated his plea. “I have to do this. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Jennie smiled and nodded, confirming that she’d ensure Mimi was looked after.

She thought it was probably just as well that Mimi seemed well out of it, from shock she supposed, or she’d have had the added worry of her sister putting herself in danger like this. 

The ground was rough and hard beneath Sam’s bare feet as he cautiously threaded his way through the throng, making sure his toes didn’t suffer the same fate as his fingers had in the last parade. Al went a little way ahead, bobbing up and down to make sure Sam didn’t lose him in the melee.

He was soon clear of the crowd, and picked up the pace as he followed Al to destination danger. Al was true to his word; it wasn’t far before he was warning Sam that his quarry was just around the corner, hiding at the far end of the bleachers in the shadows. Sam paused to catch his breath and compose himself, his hand clutching his side. “Stitch?” queried Al. Sam shook his head, and again tried to deny the pain that bored mercilessly into his scarred flesh, echoes of other injuries, personal and vicarious. After a few moments, he straightened up, and took as deep a breath as the constricting corset would allow.

“Be very careful, Sam,” the hologram cautioned, “he still has the knife!”

Sam nodded, not wanting to betray his presence with a reckless word. If he was lucky, he could sneak up and disarm his opponent before the other man had a chance to counter-attack.

He wasn’t lucky.

As he edged his way along toward his target, the sinister spider clad figure finally decided that he dared to risk another strike. Moving out of cover, he looked up and saw Sam coming.  His expression of surprise was completely concealed by the almost full facial mask he wore, but Sam read it in his body language.

“I was just about to come looking for you, my little butterfly,” he declared with a creepy cheerfulness. “How did you manage to find me?”

“I guess my spider sense was tingling!” retorted the time-traveler.                    

Through the bathroom window of his hotel room just above, one Stanley Martin Lieber overheard what he took to be a lover’s exchange, and sniggered to himself. Washing his hands, he hurried through to the bedroom to find his ever-present pad and pen, to jot down the intriguing comment that had triggered the vague stirrings of an idea in the cartoonist’s mind.

A secret smile of satisfaction snuck onto the spider’s face as he observed the blood stains on the girl’s costume. She was walking too upright to be the one he’d skewered, but at least one of them was suffering and the other had witnessed it. No matter which twin was which, it was a start.

“I see someone has already clipped your wings,” he taunted, closing the gap between them. He expected her to retreat in terror, but not only did she stand her ground, she actually took a step toward him. She was gutsier than he’d anticipated. In fact he’d underestimated her all around. He hadn’t expected her interference when he’d made his first strike. He thought he’d be able to sneak in through the chaos and stab the pair of them to death before anyone knew what had hit them. 

He still didn’t know what had gone wrong with his original plan. Mimi should have been totally bedridden, dying horrendously - if not dead - from the poisoning by now. It had been foolproof -or so he thought. He knew she had been getting steadily worse for the first three weeks or so. Everything had been going according to schedule. Yet the last few days he’d seen her out and about with her damned identical twin, and they’d both looked disgustingly healthy. He couldn’t stand to see them so healthy and happy. That’s why he’d brought his knife. One way or another, he was going to see them both dead. He felt the comforting weight of his knife in his hand, and his eyes sparkled with malice. She was almost within striking distance.

Both Sam and Al were watching him intently as he approached, his fingers twitching on the weapon. Sam spread his arms in front of him, palms forward, fingers open in a non-threatening gesture, showing himself to be unarmed.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” he queried, with genuine puzzlement.

“She doesn’t know who he is!” the spider figure muttered with glee.

“This guy’s creepy, Sam,” observed Al nervously, “now he’s talking like Gollum!”

Sam didn’t acknowledge his friend. He didn’t want to antagonize his opponent, nor did he want to take his eyes from the hand that held the knife.

Al gulped, as a thought occurred to him. “Hey, he’s talking crazy, you don’t think he can see me, do you?”  He waved his hand in front of the assailant’s face, “Can you see me, freaky spider-man?” then he dodged back, as if getting out of range.

Sam couldn’t help musing that Spiderman was supposed to be a good guy.

The spider didn’t react, he was watching his victim, eyeing up his prey.

“Spider’s eat butterflies,” he commented out of nowhere, “did you know that?”

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t have Verbena’s level of expertise when it came to psychology, but he knew enough. He was starting to get a picture of the way this guy thought, and it scared him.

“He is going to kill you,” the spider informed Sam slowly and deliberately, as if there had been any doubt as to his intentions, “but he thinks he wants you to suffer first…” with which he flicked his wrist, opening out the blade of the knife, and in the same movement waved his multiple arms in rapid repeated slashing motions. Before Sam could focus on which arm was the real one, he felt a sudden sharp sting across his left cheek as the tip of the cold steel scratched his face, in a horizontal line that ran almost from nose to ear. Then he felt warm blood trickling down. He instinctively moved his head back, but his body didn’t follow quite as fast. The next slash made contact with his torso, traversing his chest in an elongated arc. Being a shallow strike, the blade was mercifully deflected by the whalebone inserts in the corset, and merely gashed the fabric of the bodice. Thankfully, no blood was drawn this time.

Sam staggered back a couple of paces, shocked by the speed and agility of the attack, and suddenly his adrenaline was pumping, the fight or flight instinct kicking in.

Sam took up a defensive stance, his right arm coming up to protect his already injured face, his weight shifting from one leg to the other as he looked for an opportunity to knock the weapon out of his adversary’s hand.

The spider tilted his head to one side, and again eyed his prey. He nodded slightly to himself.

“Hmm, the little insect has spirit,” he conceded, with a tone that was almost admiring.

He began to circle Sam slowly, keeping his arms waving and swaying so as to keep his victim off guard, not taking his eyes from her.                   

Sam in turn kept his eyes on the weapon, trying to anticipate the next lunge, trying to filter out the distraction of the ‘extra’ arms. There followed a dizzying display of thrust and parry, as the spider taunted and teased and tried to injure his victim, while Sam evaded each successive hack and slash, and tried to reason with his tormentor.

At last, Sam’s reflexes allowed him to grab the wrist that held the knife, keeping it from making contact with his throat. Seeing an opening of his own, he struck out at the spider’s chin with a right hook. The blow landed squarely on target, snapping the head sideways and stunning his foe, but it also had the effect of exacerbating the injury to the fingers of Sam’s right hand, temporarily forgotten in the heat of the moment. He drew back his hand with a gasp, drawing it close to his body; his grip on the other man’s wrist loosening as the pain momentarily distracted his attention.

“Oh, nice shot, Sam!” encouraged Al, followed by a sympathetic wince as he realized Sam had hurt himself.

The spider realized it too. He tried to twist his armed hand completely out of Sam’s grasp, but Sam adapted his hold, and managed to close his fingers over the hilt of the knife, just above the other man’s. They both wrestled for control of the weapon, the spider trying to force Sam off with a sharp jab from his elbow into Sam’s throat. Though Sam staggered and wheezed from the blow, he held firm, countering with a swift hard kick to the back of the knee, bowing his assailant enough to let him snatch the knife, and back away a little. He stood, struggling to breathe, trying to watch the staggering figure though eyes blurred by pain.

“You got it, Sam! Way to go!” Al enthused. “Keep your distance now,” he advised.

Sam took a couple of faltering steps backward, then found his way barred by the metal framework of the bleachers. He thought about tossing the knife away, as far as he could fling it, but decided it could hurt someone innocent, or be retrieved by the spider. He had no intention of using it on the assailant though. He switched hands to hold it loosely in his right, leaving his stronger left arm free to attack or defend.

Still watching the temporarily incapacitated black clad figure, Sam began inching his way sideways, back toward the crowds, and the police.

He didn’t get nearly far enough.

Intent on re-gaining possession of the weapon, his opponent lunged suddenly at Sam, grabbing him by the right hand and bending his fingers backwards as he tried to pry the knife out of his hand. Sam’s mouth opened in a silent scream as the still bruised digits were twisted out of alignment, and the knife clattered to the ground, as he was unable to maintain his grasp. Seeing his advantage, the spider pressed it home, continuing to twist Sam’s fingers back, laughing at the agonized look on his victim’s face as he forced ‘her’ down toward his prize on the ground.

Sam swung at the bully with his good arm, trying to make him loose his hold, but to no avail. The pain in his fingers was intolerable, and he had to sink downward or allow them to snap under the pressure. After a certain point, his center of gravity shifted, and he had to put his left knee down to steady himself. Still, the pressure didn’t ease, and Sam felt that if he pushed any further, his enemy would collapse on top of him. The spider seemed to have the same thought, and being less than steady on his own sore leg, suddenly thought better of continuing his maneuver. Giving the fingers one last vicious jerk, he let go, following through with a snatch toward the knife where it lay just behind where Sam’s head was in danger of smashing on the ground.

Sam twisted his body until his good arm could take his weight, saving himself from falling all the way. The move allowed him to see what the spider was doing, and he launched himself further, to deny him possession of the weapon once more. It was the spider’s forehead that smacked the sidewalk, his hands striking the floor on either side as he tried in vain to save himself.

Sam thought he’d gained the upper hand, not realizing that his rival had managed to close his hand around the flick-knife. As the leaper turned his attention to getting his balance, he was caught off guard by a swift swing of the spider’s various arms, which arced round and sliced through Sam’s upper arm, gouging a long deep diagonal cut from shoulder almost to inner elbow. It happened so fast, that Sam was not even aware at first that he had been hit. The movement was nothing but a blur before him, and he reacted instinctively, reaching out to grab the flailing arms. 

“Sam! “ shrieked Al, seeing the blood soaking through the tattered glove on Sam’s right arm. “Oh God, your arm!” His hand went to his mouth, as he looked on helplessly.

A tussle had ensued, the two combatants rolling over each other as they struggled for dominance. Sam vaguely heard Al’s comment, and was dimly conscious of a nagging ache in his arm, which suddenly felt like lead. He was breathing hard, but he hadn’t the leisure to process what had happened. He had to deal with what was happening, moment by moment. He wished he could fell the foe with a simple Vulcan nerve pinch. Al tried to shout helpful advice, but the fight moved faster than he could commentate, and he realized he was just confusing Sam, so he settled for the odd encouraging word.

Sam was moving now on sheer adrenaline, oblivious to the pain. For endless minutes, the two oscillated between attack and defense, winning and losing. Al couldn’t keep track of the tumble and jumble of limbs, real and stuffed.

Finally, Sam found he was holding the villain by the back of his mask, and yanked it over his head, at the same time pushing him over onto his back to get a look at his face, and managing to climb astride him, pinning his arms down with his own powerful muscular legs, so that he couldn’t escape.                     

“You!” Sam cried out, astonished.                               

 “You recognize this nozzle?” asked Al. “Who is he?”

“She knows him now!” the stunned spider whimpered, his eyes two terrified pools in the island of his face.

“It’s Mallory, isn’t it?” Sam sought corroboration of the name his memory attached to the face.

The pharmacy assistant neither confirmed nor denied his name.

Sam sifted through the things he’d learned about the boy – chiefly that he was Heloise’s boyfriend and had stood by her despite her disfigurement. He had to know that she bore the twins no animosity, (unless she was the most convincing actress never to have won an Oscar) so his motive was a mystery.

Though he didn’t seem to be completely crazy (he hadn’t shown signs of being able to see Al for a start!) he was obviously disturbed, as evidenced by his referral to himself in the third person. Sam noticed that that had only begun when he’d challenged the young man about his motives. It was classic avoidance – he was distancing himself from his actions, in order to deal with his feelings of guilt. In his mind it was as if someone else were committing the crime.

Al fed the name into his handlink, and soon brought Sam the confirmation he sought as to the young man’s identity.

Sam decided to play along, and addressed Mallory using the third person.

“Why is he trying to hurt us, Mallory? Why does he want Mimi and I to die?”

Mallory squirmed, but couldn’t get free. Sam was feeling light-headed, but he held firm with his thigh muscles, keeping the boy down on the ground, whilst he panted hard, trying to get his breath back from the struggle.

At this moment a female figure dressed in a simple peasant girl costume with a small thick rimmed bowl attached to the waistband rounded the corner of the bleachers and stopped short, shocked, deciding to watch from the shadows. Seeing Mallory wriggling on the ground, and Ella sitting astride him, her dress ripped up one side, her chest heaving, she imagined that they were…

She gasped and put a hand to her mouth, stopping herself from shouting out and giving away her presence. She didn’t even dare to think what it looked like they were doing, let alone form it into words.

‘Oh Ella,’ she thought, ‘how could you betray me like that? I thought we were still friends.’ As for Mallory’s betrayal, she couldn’t even begin to comprehend that.

As she stood and watched, edging close enough to hear their conversation, Heloise soon realized his betrayal actually took a very different form.

Unaware that they were being observed by anyone other than Al, Sam looked Mallory in the eyes and tried to understand what had driven him to attempted murder. The young man did not answer his queries at first, but those eyes boring into him, seeming to search deep into his soul, after a while, he could not resist their command.

“He loved Heloise the moment he first saw her, you know,” he began.

Sam nodded.

“She was two years behind him in school, but she wasn’t silly and superficial like most of the girls. She was smart and beautiful and yes, she was sexy.”

Sam looked uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was moving, but he said nothing about that.

“She doesn’t blame us for what happened,” Sam put in, not specifying which twin had actually been responsible. “I don’t think she would want you to hurt us.”

“It isn’t about how she feels,” Mallory explained, abruptly. “It’s about how he feels. He told her he loved her and would never leave her, and he meant it. At the time he meant it with all his heart. But they were young. All their friends have dated, and split up, and dated other people. That’s what young people do.”

Again Sam did no more than nod. He had an idea where this was leading, and despite himself, he felt a pang of sympathy for the boy’s dilemma.

“He can’t leave her now, because he gave her his word. He couldn’t break her heart after what happened. And he thinks he still loves her. But when he sees all his friends, and they ask why he’s still with her, he can’t be sure if it’s the love or the promise that keeps them together. If she wasn’t…” he paused, almost ashamed to say it. “If you damned twins hadn’t scarred her and made her ugly, would they still be together, or would they have moved on? Every day he asks himself the same question, and he doesn’t know the answer.” The words were tumbling out of him now, so that he was barely pausing to breathe, “It’s so complicated, he can’t think straight anymore, and it’s because of you, you and your damned sister. If not for you it would all be simple and clear. He wants it to be simple and clear again, and for that to happen you have to die. You see that, don’t you?” His voice had been rising in pitch as he spoke, getting more and more hysterical, and this last was practically shouted.

His twisted logic made perfect sense to him.

All that made perfect sense to Sam was that he now knew how the ‘fresh’ shark liver oil had still been laced with arsenic. Mallory had the perfect opportunity to ensure that Mimi’s medicine was contaminated before she even bought it. He must have had a ‘special batch’ made up ready for her.

Listening in the shadows, tears streamed down Heloise’s face. For a few moments she was rooted to the spot, unable to believe what she had heard.

He had called her ugly. He thought she was ugly. Her hand went up to her face, and pulling off her mask she traced the lines of her scars with shaking fingers.

She supposed it was true. She had never felt ugly. Inside she had felt just the same as ever. She was the same Heloise she had always been. Yet all the times he’d said he loved her, was it really only pity he felt? And he blamed Mimi and Ella, not for hurting her, but for confusing him? For that he was willing to kill them?                               

Heloise took a closer look at the young man she had for so long looked up to and admired and adored, and suddenly felt nothing for him but contempt. Her scrutiny also revealed to her the blood on Ella’s cheek and arm, and she realized that Mallory had nearly succeeded in his murderous plan. A burst of anger filled her, and she rushed forward, yelling and screaming at him unintelligibly.

Sam was startled by the sudden noise, and he recoiled slightly, loosening his grip on his prisoner, who instantly took advantage, bucking under the restraint of the body above him, wriggling his arm free and once more closing his fingers around the hilt of his knife. With a quick jerk of his arm, he drew back, and plunged the blade deep into the bare flesh of his enemy’s left thigh.

Sam fell sideways under the force of the blow, and was unable to catch himself on his injured arm. He went down hard, grunting in pain, too dazed to keep Mallory from regaining his feet. The boy towered over him with malice and hatred in his eyes, and drew back his foot to kick his conquered foe while she was down.

He didn’t know what hit him.

Just as his foot swung forward, something struck him from behind, and he fell to the floor, instantly unconscious.

Sam didn’t know what hit Mallory either at first.

He was too busy cringing and trying to avoid the blow he knew was coming.

It was only when the blow failed to make contact, and he heard Al shout, “Attagirl! Way to go, Heloise!” that he looked up to see her standing over the fallen figure of Mallory with the remnants of a china bowl in her hand.

She was trembling with emotion, a mixture of anger and distress.

Sam tried to sit up, but with a damaged right arm, and the knife digging into his left leg, he had nothing to lever himself with. He groaned as the effort sent pains shooting through his body.

Heloise stepped over the insensible form of her now ex-boyfriend Mallory, and knelt down beside her friend Marvella.  Seeing her struggling, she helped her to sit up, using her own body to support Ella’s trembling frame.

Very gently, she removed the glove from Ella’s injured arm, and used it and its partner as a sling to support it. Part of the hem of her own dress was quickly converted into a bandage to staunch the flow of blood from the angry wound.

Sam smiled his thanks, a crooked half smile. Now the rush of activity was over, and the adrenaline had stopped pumping through his system fuelling his resistance, he felt a sudden sinking in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t stop himself from shaking, even though he knew there was no longer anything to be afraid of.

He looked across at Mallory, out for the count.

He looked down and saw the knife protruding from his leg, registering it as if for the first time - almost surprised to find it there.

He looked to Heloise.

“I’m s-sorry… you had… to h-hear that,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” she replied stoically. “I wouldn’t want to go on living a lie.”

“You’re a… brave s-soul, H-Heloise,” Sam told her. “Do you th-think you can… do s-s-someth-thing… for m-me?”

“Name it,” she replied sincerely,

“Go g-get some help, before he w-wakes up…”

Sam looked across at Al, who took the hint.

“Zig says he’ll be out cold for another six minutes, Sam. She should have plenty of time to find a policeman to haul him away, and some medical aid for you.”

Sam sighed.

Heloise moved to stand, but Sam bade her wait one moment first. Leaning heavily on her to steady himself, he clutched the hilt of the knife firmly in his left hand.

“What are you doing?” Heloise and Al asked in unison.

“Take th-this with you, p-p-please,” Sam begged softly, “I don’t w-want it anywhere near if he w-wakes before you g-get back.” So saying, he gritted his teeth, and drew the blade out as smoothly as he was able. A gasp escaped his lips like the hiss of escaping air from a punctured tire. His eyes closed as he tried to blot out the burning pain.

Heloise immediately ripped off more of the hem to tie a tourniquet round the gushing wound, earning a clipped nod of approval from the patient.   

“You’re a… h-handy gal t-to have… a-round in a cr-crisis,” he complimented her.

“Yeah, I can see the headlines now! Miss Muffett squashes Spider!” Heloise gave a hollow laugh, while Al guffawed. “I like her, Sam!” he gave his seal of approval.

“L-lucky for me you ah d-did,” Sam thanked her.

Sam had put his good arm out behind him to steady himself while she applied first aid.

“One m-more thing, before… y-you go?” he gasped plaintively.

“Sure dawlin’, anything.”

“C-can you… l-loosen the s-stays… on th-this damned… c-corset, so I c-can… b-b-breathe!”

Heloise grinned. It was such a ‘normal’ request that she dared to hope it was a good sign. Working deftly, she soon complied, earning a grateful sigh from the broken butterfly. There were pink marks in the flesh where it had dug in, and Heloise could well understand Ella’s desire to be free from the restraint.

Sam was still shaking, and when she realized this; Heloise helped him to lie back down. She removed the cape from around her shoulders, and covered his shivering body, asking,

“Are ya sure ya want me to go? I don’t like leaving ya in this state. Especially if Mal comes round…”

Another small nod, “Just h-hurry! Please!”

Heloise bent down and kissed her friend Ella on the forehead, giving her good shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll be back before ya know it! Just lie still and take it easy.” Picking the knife up from where she’d laid it while she tended Ella’s injuries, she got up and ran back to the crowded parade route to summon help.

“C-can’t do… much else!” Sam whispered after her.

“Y-you were wrong, Al,” he complained to his companion once she’d gone.

“What?” Al frowned.

“B-bad th-things… in th-threes,” Sam explained, reminding Al of his promise that the leaper should be safe, having already suffered three times since he took on Ella’s aura.

“Th-three m-more… Aaah jeeze!” He screwed up his eyes and clutched his perforated leg as a searing pain shot through him.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, you’ll be out of here in no time!” Al encouraged, bending close to his fallen comrade, expecting Sam to leap at any moment. Consulting his handlink, Al relayed the news that Ziggy could now confirm the survival of both twins.

“N-not just yet,” Sam contradicted. “Ask Marvella s-something f-for me.”

Al swallowed; remembering the last time Sam had requested that.

Sam saw his hesitation. “N-no.” He was finding it hard to concentrate.

“You want me to talk to Ella in the Waiting Room?” Al sought confirmation.

Sam nodded. “I’m sure sh-she’ll agree but…”

His voice was getting thinner and weaker; Al leant close while Sam whispered his request in his holographic ear.

When he’d finally managed to convey his intention, Al nodded.

“Sure thing, buddy. I’ll get right on it, soon as Heloise gets back.”

Sam looked at his friend with gratitude, acknowledging silently his thanks that Al was there to keep him awake until help arrived.

They didn’t have long to wait. True to her word, Heloise soon returned with two strong police officers, who whisked Mallory off to jail the moment he awoke, and a couple of paramedics, who assessed the victim’s injuries, and then whisked her off to join her sister at nearby Charity Hospital just as she slipped into unconsciousness.

PART EIGHT

Sam was dozing, finally catching up on all the sleep he’d missed out on during the leap. A gentle pressure on his left hand caused him to stir. He felt someone hold his hand, and stroke his arm.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and turned his head to see who it was. His left cheek brushed the pillow, and he inhaled sharply. At once, the grip on his hand tightened.

Blinking his eyes into focus, Sam saw Xin Qian sitting on a chair between the hospital bed he was in, and another containing the sleeping form of Mimi, over whom Raoul hovered.

Sam tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it pulled on the tape holding the bandage, and made the muscles of his face ache, so he gave it up.

“Wo da airen!” Xin Qian’s eyes lit up as she saw at least one of “her beloved” daughters awake.

Raoul turned at her declaration of endearment, and added his own smiles. They both looked drawn, and Sam could see that Xin Qian had been crying.

“I’m okay,” he assured them huskily. “Tired and more than a bit sore, but I’m fine. I’m sorry we worried you.” He moved his lips only slightly as he spoke, since too much facial expression hurt. Xin Qian immediately poured a glass of water from the jug on the stand, and held it to Ella’s lips. Sam sipped it gratefully.

He looked across at Mimi, who looked peaceful enough as she slumbered. Sam found that his side was not bothering him at the moment, and hoped that meant she was not feeling distressed by her injury. Sleep was probably the best thing for her right now. It wouldn’t have done him any harm either!

 “What did that brute do t’ya face be’?” Raoul perched on the bed and put his hand out to his daughter, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

“It’s nothin’, Pappa,” Sam promised. “It isn’t deep; didn’t even need stitches. I don’t think it’ll scar.”

The relief on both their faces was palpable.

It was reflected in the expression on a newly arrived Al’s face too.

“Ziggy confirms it, Sam. Neither you nor Marvella will bear any permanent reminders of Mallory’s attack.”

Sam acknowledged him with a look, and the briefest of winks.

“Guess you’ll be leaping soon, kiddo!” he enthused for the second time this leap.

Tilting his head to one side, Sam’s expression bade Al inform him if he’d done as he’d been asked.

“Just as you predicted, buddy,” Al confirmed. “Marvella was only too happy to agree. She’s all for it! Not that I was ever in any doubt.” Al’s admiration for the lady in question was evident.

“Pappa?” Sam attracted Raoul’s attention.

“What is it, be’?”

Mimi stirred. ‘Perfect timing, thought Sam.

“Could you get the doctor in here, please?” Sam requested.

The elder Voyers exchanged alarmed looks.

“I’m okay,” Sam reassured them again, though it wasn’t strictly true. His arm hurt all the way down to his bruised fingertips, and felt like it weighed a ton. His leg ached dreadfully, and his face felt tender if he did more than breathe a shallow breath.

He knew the pains wouldn’t last long though. He had only one more small task to perform, and he’d be on to pastures new. “I just need to ask the doctor something.”

Raoul imagined that she wanted to know if she would be crippled, or lose the use of her arm permanently. The very questions he and his wife had thus far been too afraid to ask. She looked determined, though, so he acceded to her request.

While he was gone, Mireille woke fully, and was brought up to date with what had happened to her sister by a tearful Xin Qian, repeating the story Heloise had told her of Mallory’s crazed vendetta. Mimi had tears in her own eyes as she whispered,

“You saved my life!” and blew her sister a kiss.

“That was the idea,” replied the leaper.

“How’d you know? About the poison?” Mimi queried, her voice a mix of admiration and gratitude.

“Just a feeling.” Sam shrugged, then wished he hadn’t as his arm complained at the movement.

Sam was going to miss her, he realized. The closeness of the bond the twin’s shared had infected his relationship with her, and he felt as if a part of him was about to be ripped out.

Before he could get too maudlin, Raoul returned with the doctor assigned to their care, who was much younger, and thankfully far more competent than Doc Coignac had been.

Sam knew what he was about to propose would sound strange seeming to come from Marvella, especially in her current condition, but he took a breath, and went for it anyway.

“Doc, can you tell me something?” he began, though Dr. Beckett well knew the answers already.

“I’ll try young lady,Doctor D’amour rejoined.

“Mimi’s shark liver oil is meant to help her poor immunity, isn’t it?” he continued.

“Indeed.” This was well established in the family history. The twins had been born at Charity Hospital, and the doctor who stood before them had been on hand to help her through many a crisis.

“And her immunity is bad because of a white blood cell deficiency?” Sam pressed.

“Chiefly, yes.”

“Ella sounds more like a doctor every day!” Mimi told her mamma softly, who nodded, her eyes full of pride.

“So, would it help…?” Sam knew full well it would, but he had to sound more like Ella and let the expert make the call, “…if she had regular blood transfusions from me? Not now, of course,” he hastened to add as the twin’s parents looked at his injured body with terrified eyes, “but when I’m better. If I were to donate blood to Mimi once every few months, would that help?”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.” Was the doctor’s initial reaction, and then he appeared to consider it more carefully for a moment. “In fact, I think it could do her a lot of good!”

“Ziggy says they set up a regular routine, Sam, and whilst Mimi still has more than her fair share of illnesses, her quality of life improves greatly! You did it buddy. Both twins are still alive and doing well; Mimi is one of the first patients to have a bone marrow transplant from Ella, once they become available, and since then Mimi has been doing better than ever. They live locally, and are quite sprightly pensioners by all accounts.” Al’s eyes glistened as he imparted this news. Not having to live with the grief of losing Mimi had obviously improved the quality of Ella’s life too; she was no longer the frail old woman he’d taken to dinner. Al couldn’t have been happier to learn that.

“Mallory serves some time for attempted murder – so he should the nozzle! He also gets a referral to a therapist for his “issues” – I could give him a few issues of my own!” Al snorted derisively. “Hey, get this Sam!” Al continued excitedly. “It seems Mimi gets a bee in her bonnet about Ella and medicine. Wonder what inspired that?” He gave Sam a mischievous wink. “Both Ella and Heloise begin training as nurses in the autumn of ’57, and they end up tending Vietnam vets. Heloise helps a lot of our boys who get disfigured by bombs and such. They do a lot of good, Sam, and the three girls renew their close friendship. Heloise marries a good looking soldier boy and they have a couple of cute little ankle biters.”

“Great!” Sam enthused; glad to hear he’d secured all the girls a happier-ever after alternative to their original history. He sighed contentedly, and despite the strain it placed on his split cheek, he conferred upon the doctor and the Voyer family a broad satisfied smile as he felt the tingle of the impending leap envelop him…

EPILOGUE

After being whisked away from his last leap, Doctor Samuel Beckett needed to escape.  It seemed that every leap was getting tougher and hard-hitting.  He remembered the exchange he had with an enigmatic bartender some time ago, being told that he was the one leaping himself in Time but he just couldn’t make himself believe that.  Not after what he had learned that day.

The leaps had become tougher… much tougher for him, not only mentally but physically as well.  He remembered righting the wrong for Al and knew, deep in his heart, that it was the right thing to do.  He just wished that he were home. 

Even as he felt weightless in the void that held him over an abyss that seemed to be immeasurable, Sam was not aware of any part of his body.  It was as if he was in a dream; a realm where he could see everything from a universal scale, but not see anything at all.  It was then that he heard the voice that talked to him sporadically.

“Rest, Dr. Beckett.”

“I want to go home,” he said softly.

“Not yet.  Close your eyes and rest.  The road ahead is… bumpy and long.  Rest.  You will be home soon enough.”

If he could feel his head, Sam would have bowed it slightly, but still the words came softly, “Oh boy.”