VIRTUAL SEASONS EPISODES |
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PREVIOUSLY
ON QUANTUM LEAP Finding himself being taken in by a family of
farmers, Sam at first is frustrated when Al and Ziggy can’t tell him why
he has leaped into Martin Adler, a drifter from Indiana who ended up in
South Carolina. However, when
the overbearing man in charge of the farm, Tom, heads out on an errand, Sam
finally discovers what his mission is:
to identify the corpse buried in the Mulhills’ barn… Once Tom finds out that Sam had come upon the
body of Hank Mulhill in his barn, he imprisons the leaper in the farmhouse
cellar. Meanwhile, that
prevents Sam from saving Paddy, who had an accident with insecticide that
lands him in the hospital. Not
only that, but history is being changed by another leaper who is working to
keep Tom out of jail.
PART
ELEVEN
Tuesday,
June 7, 1960 22:04
EDT The
Mulhill farm near Carlisle, South Carolina “… So basically, you have to somehow
get out of this basement and to that hospital if you’re gonna save Paddy.
I guess you did achieve something after all so far:
this cursed family at least has some closure on Hank’s death, but I
don’t know if they can deal with another death so soon, Sam.” The leaper was horrified at the turn of
events. “How am I supposed to get out of here?” Sam mumbled
through the gag, but it was no use. Nobody
could understand him. ¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤ About twenty minutes later, after getting
Helen safely home and driving back to the Mulhill farm, Maxwell Connors
walked back to the house. He
had taken advantage of following Helen home to have a more in-depth
discussion with Morpheus, and all he needed to do was file the case as
suicide the next morning in order to leap.
Tom was sitting in the kitchen, nursing his third brew when the
time-traveler entered. “I
hope you still have that feather bed fluffed up for me,” he announced,
trying to be friendly. “O’ course,” Tom responded with a smile
and then took a sip of his beer. “I’m
sure ya could use Paddy’s bed for the night.
I’m guessin’ they won’t be back ’til tomorrow sometime, given
that he’s up t’ snuff t’ come back home.”
Taking another sip of his beer, Tom glanced at the other man.
“Ya want one before headin’ off t’ bed?” Since it seemed like a pretty simple leap, Max
shrugged his shoulders and figured a drink wouldn’t hurt. “Sure,
why not?” Tom pulled another bottle of beer out of the
refrigerator, opening it before setting it on the table. “I—I
don’t know how to thank you, Bill,” he said quietly. “We been friends for near long as I can remember.
I guess y’ could say my life is in yer hands.” “Well…” Connors said, taking a good swig
of the beer while coming up with some words that would bind the sheriff to
keeping the secret. “It’s
weighing on my conscience, but I say after this is behind us, we don’t
ever mention it again. Friends
like us don’t come along every day, but this is one thing that we’ll
need to keep between us and take to the grave.” “So long as that drifter don’t say nothin’,”
Tom added, having told Billy before that Sam had been on his way.
“If’n we’re lucky, ain’t nobody in town bothered listenin’
to ’im. Maybe he’s long
gone to somewheres else, even so far as Carem or Monarch if he’s
hitchhikin’ or ridin’ the rails.” Now
Tom did have to worry about
getting rid of his prisoner. Quietly, he added, “I jus’ wish he coulda stayed in
Indiana.” The leaper simply nodded at his statement,
unsure as to how to respond without feeling awkward.
He finished his beer and stood up.
“I think I’ll turn in now. We’ll
have clearer heads in the morning.” “Sounds like a plan to me,” Tom responded,
turning his bottle up and downing the rest of the brew inside. They took the stairs up to the bedrooms and the farmer showed
his second guest to Paddy’s bed. He
didn’t dare suggest Hank’s room. Not
that he needs it anymore anyway, Tom pondered darkly before beginning to
head off to his own bedroom. “G’night,
Billy,” he said as he closed the door to Paddy’s room behind him. “Good night,” returned Max.
He felt tired enough to sleep, so he laid down in the comfortable bed
right away, and was sleeping in minutes, unaware that he was not the only
quantum leaper residing in the Mulhill home that evening. ¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤ Mick Mulhill woke up to a crick in his back
the next morning from sleeping in a chair all night. He
glanced at the little clock by the bedside and it read “8:00.” The farmer couldn’t believe that he had slept so long since
he was usually up at four in the morning, but he guessed without the
pressures of the farm, his body had decided to take advantage.
Yawning, he raised his arms above his head, stretching out his body. He
then looked over at Paddy and saw that his brother was sitting up. The
nurses had apparently come in and helped him up, also giving him a bit to
eat, although Paddy had hardly touched his food.
Still, he looked better than he had when Mick went to sleep. “Paddy, how ya feelin’?” Mick asked him.
The patient tried to crack a smile, saying that he was not one
hundred percent, but the pain had subsided significantly. Mick
thought that himself and Tom would have to finish the spraying, because he
doubted Paddy would want to go out there again anytime soon. Despite the smile, Mick noticed that Paddy
looked a bit disturbed. He
figured it was just his condition, but then Paddy looked at his older
brother with a seriousness in his eyes that he knew was more than just from
how he was feeling. “Mick, I gotta tell you somethin’,” he said with a small
tremor in his voice. “If’n
I hadn’t been thinkin’ on it, I mighta never ended up in this
dang-blasted place.” He went
on to tell Mick that shortly before Marty had left the farm, he had told
Paddy about finding a body in Midnight’s stall and indicated that Tom was
involved with the gruesome business. Mick figured Paddy was delirious from the
pesticide that had gotten in his system, but he was pretty persistent about
it. “Okay,” Mick agreed, not wanting to upset the bedridden
man. “When you get outta
here, we’ll go have a look just to ease your mind.
How ’bout that?” Paddy agreed, feeling extreme relief at
finally telling someone about what Sam had mentioned to him in the field.
Mick then realized that Tom would want to know how Paddy was, so he
began to dial the phone. “He’ll
want to talk to you.” Mick
smiled with his horrible teeth, trying to reassure his brother. The
phone began to ring… ¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤ Tom rose around seven o’clock, a couple
hours later than his normal time, but it had been a tiring day the day
before. Checking in on Billy’s room, he saw that the man in the bed
was still sleeping. The kitchen
was the farmer’s first destination as he prepared a pot of coffee to share
with Bill. Tom was no cook, but
he managed to scramble up some eggs with a side of bacon and some toast. It
was quarter past seven when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Maxwell Connors awoke the next morning, not
remembering exactly where he was. As
his tired eyes got used to the surroundings, a rush of the previous
night’s events came back to him. It
had been a good rest, but he wasn’t sure how long he had slept.
Getting out of the bed, the leaper dressed himself in Sheriff
Boone’s clothing once more and headed downstairs to use the restroom,
first smelling bacon and eggs. After
a quick pit stop, disgusted at the condition of the bathroom, Max entered
the kitchen. Tom, who was cooking, greeted him and immediately urged him
to sit down at the table. He
sat at the place where a cup of coffee was sitting, and Doctor Connors took
a sip. “Morning,” he said
evenly. Despite all this man
had been offering him, Max was anxious to leave the house.
Hanging around with a murderer was not exactly his idea of fun. “G’morning, Bill,” Tom replied.
“Sleep well?” Max nodded.
“As well as could be expected.”
He let a beat pass. “Listen,
Tom. I think it would be best if I head back to town right away. I
need to get to the station, especially to be there by the time you make your
call about finding Hank.” “How we gonna explain that drifter’s call
yesterday?” Tom asked. “He
called in t’ report findin’ Hank.” The time-traveler was amazed at how Tom could
easily have been talking about last week’s baseball game.
Nonetheless, he pressed on, using information that Morpheus had
supplied to him the night before. “No
one knows about that call except for me. Deputy
Harris was out of the office at the time, so I was the only one answering
the phones.” Tom breathed a sigh of relief. “All
right. So you’re wantin’ me
to wait for ya to get to the station first… well, whenever yer full, head
on inta town, and I’ll call an hour after ya’ve left.
Sound good?” “Sure, sounds like a plan.
That should give me some time to settle in,” Doctor Connors
suggested. Though there was
still food on his plate, Max was unable to force himself to eat it.
The excitement of foiling whoever had changed this timeline was
getting to him and he just wanted to get to Carlisle to file the report.
“Don’t worry, this’ll all work out.” Without
a word more, the leaper got up and headed toward the door with Tom following
behind. He got into his cruiser and took off down the road. Tom was still somewhat disbelieving of the
sheriff’s willingness to help out under such circumstances. Billy
probably knew how much Tom hated Hank because of the older brother’s
resentment toward him, so maybe Sheriff Boone was more understanding than
anyone else could be. He finished up the rest of his own meal,
taking it slowly since he didn’t feel like doing anything that day except
think about how to dispose of his captive and to visit Paddy.
It was nearly eight o’clock by the time he put the dishes in the
sink and the phone started to ring. Thinking
it was going to be Mick or Doctor Henderson with the news about Paddy, Tom
rushed out to the desk. “Hello?” Mick heard the phone ring a couple of times
before Tom’s voice came across the line. “Hi,
Tom, this is Mick. Just wanted
to let you know that Paddy’s doin’ much better. He
has t’ stay today yet so the doctor can watch ’im, but they hope to send
’im home tomorra. D’ya want
me to come back, or stay here?” “That’s great to hear ’bout Paddy, but
ya might as well stick around there, I guess. I
can drive on up later to bring ya home instead of havin’ t’ put the
burden on anyone else,” Tom responded. He
tried to keep his tone light as he spoke to his younger brother. “Is
Paddy there? Can I talk to ’im?” “Okay, that sounds fine. Yeah,
Paddy’s right here.” Mick
handed the phone over, holding it to Paddy’s ear since his arms were still
pretty swollen. “Hey there, Paddy, how’re ya feelin?”
Tom asked when he heard a quiet hello. “Oh, better than I was yesterday, Tom. Hopin’ to come home purty soon, ya know, though I ain’t
got no plans to be doin’ anymore sprayin’.”
Paddy was still a little shaken up from telling Mick about the dead
body that Marty had claimed to find, still hoping that Mick would help him
in verifying whether the drifter had been telling the truth or not. After
reporting to Billy that they had been cruel to their animals, Paddy was
unsure if he should believe anything the stranger had said, but it still
felt wrong not to tell someone else about something so dreadful. Tom was relieved that Paddy was able to speak,
a whole lot better than he was yesterday.
He guessed the folks at the hospital did their job pretty well,
despite the family’s track record there. “I’m
glad yer feelin’ better, brother. I’ll
see ya later today, okay?” “Sure, g’bye Tom,” replied Paddy, and
after he said goodbye, he nodded at Mick to hang up the telephone. “Tom’s
comin’ t’ see me today,” Paddy relayed to his brother in the hospital
room. “Yeah, he told me,” Mick said, hanging up
the phone. “He’s gonna
bring me back with ’im to the farm afterwards.” Mick
paused, not wanting to bring up the accusations that Paddy had mentioned
earlier, but found no way around it. “Look,
Paddy, I think it best you not mention nothing ’bout that body biznis to
Tom. He’ll jus’ get mad. You
and me can look at the barn later if you really want to check out the
drifter’s story.” Not wanting to waste any more energy talking,
especially since it got his saliva working up, Paddy simply nodded at what
Mick said, letting his eyes reveal his feelings.
The elder farmer could see that the hospitalized man was concerned,
but he also looked tired, so Mick decided to let him rest. “Get
some shut-eye, little brother. I’ll
be back a little later. I’m
gonna go grab some grub from the cafeteria.” Again, Paddy nodded in response and his eyes
began to close as Mick headed out of the hospital room, and he was released
into merciful slumber. After Tom hung up the telephone with Paddy,
another wave of relief came over him, glad to hear that his youngest brother
was going to be all right. Tom
decided to busy himself with washing up the breakfast dishes and enjoying
another cup of coffee before giving Billy a call. Dialing
the number to the sheriff’s office, one that Tom knew by heart, he was
relieved when he heard Billy’s voice on the other end of the line. Connors had been acquainting himself with the
office, and before he knew it, the telephone on his desk began to ring.
Thankfully, Carlisle seemed like a quiet place, and it was Tom
Mulhill on the other end of the line. He
figured putting on a show for the deputy might be a good idea to put some
credibility into the situation. “Now
calm down, Tom, just tell me what happened.” He could see Deputy Harris staring, knowing something was up. The
leaper made up a lot of things during his conversation with Tom, and then
told Harris the story. “I
have to get to the Mulhill Farm again, Ronnie. You
stay here and mind the office. That
poor family has nothing but tragedy,” Max stated with a sad shake of his
head. Inside, however, Doctor Connors was ecstatic
that matters were progressing so perfectly.
If it took him his entire life, he would undo the damage caused by
Sam Beckett and any other time-travelers.
A sinister grin crossed Max’s lips as he stepped into the
sheriff’s cruiser once again. ¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤ After getting off the phone with whom he
thought was the sheriff, Tom Mulhill returned to the barn to ensure that
there were no remaining pieces of evidence to suggest that he did not burn
Hank whole. Not finding anything in or around the pigsty (they seemed to
have enjoyed the midnight snack he gave them), the farmer started about the
daily chores. The animals were
used to routine and seemed a little put off that he was late in their
feeding. About a half-hour into feeding the livestock,
Tom heard a voice at the barn door. Maxwell
Connors, in the aura of Sheriff Boone, was standing there with a small
container in his hands. It felt
morbid to Max, but he had to push on with this if he wanted to leap.
“These are for the ashes, Tom,” he told him. “I’ll
make the report that Hank incinerated himself and leave it at that, telling
them I made a full investigation.” Tom nodded in agreement and took the urn over
to the furnace. He shoveled any
ashes from the furnace that he could since not all of Hank was burned up,
and not knowing how much a human body would produce anyway, he was a little
liberal in the collection. Placing
the lid back on the urn, he handed it to Connors. “I’m
not sure if that’s enough or not, but you jus’ do whatever it is y’
want with it,” Tom told him. “Oh,
and ’fore I forget, I went and told Paddy and Mick that the drifter had
called ya to report that we’d been abusin’ our stock, so if it ever
comes up, that’s the story.” Doctor Connors nodded and hoped for that one
memory to carry over to Bill Boone when his body returned.
Checking the urn’s contents, it appeared to be in order. “Well, Tom, I guess that’s everything. I’ll take care of things from here,” said Max.
The farmer nodded and then the leaper added, “Just promise me that
you will never do something like
this again. And
I don’t mean just murdering someone, which of
course I’d expect you never to do again, but keeping secrets from your
best friend, too.” “O’ course, Billy. Thanks
again,” Tom replied, the gratitude obvious in his expression. Connors gave him a reassuring nod and went back to the police
vehicle. He placed the urn in
the passenger’s seat and returned to Carlisle. When Deputy Harris immediately asked him what
had happened, Connors gave the made-up report of events.
The deputy accepted his words as fact, and as Max set the urn down on
Sheriff Boone’s desk, his task complete, he leaped out. PART
TWELVE
Wednesday,
June 8, 1960 10:59
EDT The
Mulhill farm near Carlisle, South Carolina A couple of hours later, nearing on eleven
o’clock, Tom returned to the house. There
had been plenty of time while he was alone tending to the livestock to think
about what Martin Adler’s fate should be. Billy
said no more murdering. Tom had
never really planned on it, and he
would never even have considered it a second time if it hadn’t been for
the drifter coming onto the farm in the first place. Tom
chastised himself, figuring he should have just left the man out in the
cold, but then again, the soft spot in his heart for outsiders clouded his
judgment. He himself had felt
like an outcast since Hank blurted that he was a “bastard child.” Removing the key from his back pocket, still
safely there, he unlocked the cellar and left it in the lock this time since
nobody was going to be coming to the house anyway. Slowly,
Tom descended the stairs, obviously blinding his detainee with the light
once more. Sam was surprised to see light again after
what had felt like a whole day. To
his surprise, he had another visitor in addition to Tom, this one being a
holographic projection from the future.
The Imaging Chamber Door blinded him nearly as much as the natural
light filtering from the stairway. “Sorry,
Sam,” Al apologized meekly. “I
have some good news, though. Ziggy
and I spent all night trying to figure out what you’re here to do, and it
looks like stopping Tom would do more harm than good.”
The farmer reached the bottom of the steps at that moment, glancing
down at the leaper. The
observer offered Tom’s silhouetted figure a glare, but continued on.
“You need to save Paddy from dying of pesticide poisoning on June
tenth, Nineteen Sixty, as well as ensure that Martin Adler can land a job as
a hired hand here at the farm. That
was the original history, and right now, that’s the only way you’re
gonna leap.” Sam felt more relieved to have Al there, even
though he knew he couldn’t do anything against the person reaching the
bottom of the stairs. Doctor
Beckett looked up at Tom Mulhill, trying to look defiant, but it was
difficult to keep his eyes open after being in the dark all that time.
He felt absolutely miserable, not only from the situation with the
Mulhill family, but also his own physical discomfort.
The dampness around his crotch told him that his bladder had not held
up, and he also had no feeling in his hands or feet. “So, Marty, y’ thought ya could put me
away? Hank deserved what he got ’s far ’s I’m concerned,”
Tom said glaringly. He could
see that the man on the ground was trying to be brave, but he could also
tell that he was in a lot of pain. Almost
a full day of laying down there in the same position—no food, no water,
and a gagged mouth—would make anybody ache. Sam could see Al’s snide look as he
continued to glower at Tom. He
probably would have knocked the farmer senseless if he weren’t a hologram.
As tough as Tom was, Sam
doubted he could go against a Navy admiral, especially one who had suffered
through being a prisoner of war. Sam
had been down here only a day and was in sad shape, and after all this time
couldn’t imagine the pain that Al must have gone through for all those
years. Tom continued rattling on, but the leaper
groaned as loud as he possibly could, even knowing it would sound like a
muffled moan through the gag. It
got Tom’s attention and he stepped closer to Sam, looking down at him with
a gleam in his eyes and an evil look on his face. Doctor
Beckett was afraid he was going to be kicked again and heard Al protest in
the background, but was absolutely surprised when the farmer instead leaned
down and started to undo the gag from the back of the time-traveler’s
head. “You’re jus’ lucky ya caught me in a
jovial mood, Marty. Thang is, I
have a dilemma… and that’s what to do with you now that I got away with
murder.” Right after the gag was lifted from his mouth,
Sam started coughing; his throat tickled and was dry with thirst.
“Take it easy, Sam, just give yourself some time,” Al coaxed,
trying to mask his anger for how his friend was being treated. He managed to clear his throat enough after a minute to
answer. The scientist decided
he was going to try to pretend like he was on Tom’s side… at least until
he could get an upper hand. He
could agree to help him and hold his secret, maybe even be his hired hand if
that was Marty’s original destiny, claiming he had nowhere else to go. “I’ll do anything… please… water…
food… bathroom,” the leaper pleaded. It
was true, of course, that Sam needed these basic necessities, but he wanted
it to sound even more desperate than it really was, which wasn’t by much. He
wanted it to appear like he would do whatever Tom said just to get out of
the situation. Tom smirked again, looking like he was really
enjoying the groveling. This
is too good… he’s beggin’ me jus’ to use the bathroom! the
farmer mused in his mind. “Tell ya what,” Tom began, an impish smile
on his face. “I’ll give ya
some water and let y’ use the toilet, simply so ya don’t go wettin’
yerself any more. However, I’m not gonna go trustin’ ya anytime soon.” “At least ask for a change of pants,” Al
threw in, receiving a glare of his own from Sam, as the farmer bent down to
grab ahold of the chair to which Sam was attached.
Setting the chair back up on its legs and putting Sam upright again,
Tom began to remove the tape that bound the leaper to the chair.
Doctor Beckett knew that Tom would be keeping a watchful eye on him
though, so he would have to figure out a way to gain Tom’s trust again,
which certainly would not be easy. It took a few minutes before Sam was free, and
his head had stopped swimming by that time.
He had to take a few more minutes just to rub his wrists and ankles
to get the blood flowing more freely through them. Finally,
the leaper managed to get off the chair, and embarrassingly, he ended up
wobbling and falling into Tom from being in a sitting position for so long. Tom
snickered again and helped the time-traveler stand, but it didn’t take
long for him to feel a cold barrel in his back once more. Tom
really was not taking any chances. “Upstairs,” the farmer said simply,
pushing Sam toward the cellar stairs. He
obeyed and slowly began to walk, pain rushing through all parts of his body.
Tom followed Sam the whole way up with the pistol digging into
the scientist’s spine. They
made it back to ground level without any trouble, and Tom continued to
follow Sam to the bathroom. Despite
the fact that there was no window, the farmer ordered as Sam entered,
“Leave the door open. Jus’
empty yer bladder and be done with it.” Sam could hardly move he had to urinate so
badly… again. He also
wasn’t happy one iota about keeping the door ajar, since obviously this
was a private issue, but he had to go too badly to care. Sam
hurried up with it, washed his hands and face, seeing that Tom had no
protest with that, and then walked out again. “Feel better?” Tom questioned without
feeling, snickering and then pushing the gun in the leaper’s back again,
directing toward the kitchen. The admiral had not much to say and had to
restrain himself from getting too worked up, for the sake of his blood
pressure and for Sam. The odds
for the mission were not changing, so he figured he might as well give some
advice to the leaper. “Don’t
worry, Sam, I don’t think he’ll actually use that thing.
I’ve seen cowards like this in my time.
Just be calm with him and he might let his guard down.
Might.” “Yeah,” Sam answered both of them, just
grateful to get some water once they got to the kitchen. He
could smell remnants from the morning’s breakfast and his mouth was
beginning to water. He didn’t
dare ask for food though. “So
what now?” Sam asked to Tom, curious about how this would go. “I’m
willing to negotiate if you are.” Tom appeared to be pondering Sam’s question
when, instead of walking to the kitchen, Al popped up right behind the
farmer. Sam glanced at the observer quickly and wished he hadn’t,
because Tom no doubt wondered what he was looking at.
Tom Mulhill turned his head slightly only to see nothing, and turned
back to Sam. They were standing
by the sink, the leaper still sipping on his water. Sam had to get his captor talking… first he
needed to establish that he would “keep” Tom’s secret, and then
nonchalantly ask where Mick and Paddy were so that he could follow up on the
alarming information Al had given him in the cellar. Sam
didn’t know how he was going to convince the farmer that he “knew”
Paddy was in danger of dying from pesticide poisoning, so he had to try to
gain his trust. A man’s life
depended on it. “Negotiate? What
can ya possibly do for me, Marty? Y’
saw what ya thought was a body out in m’ barn and called the cops… y’
shoulda come to me first, y’ know? Things’d
be a whole lot easier if’n ya hadn’t gotten Billy involved,” Tom said
to him, a bit of anger seeping into the farmer as he finished his sentence. Ideas started to flow through Sam’s head,
from acting like a desperate drifter to trying to convince Tom he was
harmless to— Aha! Sam proclaimed in his thoughts. This is way off base,
but it might just work. He
was going to play a little loony, like after he had received shock
treatment, although this time he had control over things. Sam turned on a fearful expression and this
time looked straight at Al, then back at Tom.
“I know, I should have come to you first, Tom. But
he told me not to.”
Sam pointed in Al’s direction. The observer’s eyebrows shot up. “What
are you doing, Sam?” he
demanded, only to have the leaper ignore him.
Tom looked in the direction of Al and because he could not see him,
Sam could tell he already had the farmer’s attention. “Yeah… the… the… ghost of Hank. He
led me to Midnight’s stall, spooked the horse, and showed me where you
buried him.” Sam figured if
Tom wanted to see this for himself, Al would be able to persuade Midnight to
make a little noise, since animals could see the holographic observer. Sam then turned back to Tom. “Hank’s
not happy with you,” he explained. “He
feels you not only let him down, but Mick and Paddy too.” Doctor Beckett waited to let this sink in. He figured if Tom thought he was dealing with a madman, he
might soften up a bit, and then he could somehow sneak in that “Hank”
was telling him that Paddy was in trouble. It
certainly was not how he usually handled his leaps, but these were
God-fearing people in these parts, and he figured it might just work. Tom’s mind started working overtime.
I never told him that I killed Hank,
did I? How in the Hell did he know? Marty seems like a real bright guy, though, so maybe he jus’
put two and two together, or overheard me and Billy’s conversation,
the farmer debated internally. When he told Tom that he had let down his two remaining
living brothers, Tom raised one eyebrow in criticism. “C’mon,
Marty, ain’t no such thing as ghosts. I
dunno what yer up ta, but if ya be keepin’ it up, ya just might be joinin’
Hank in the bone yard,” Tom said sternly.
The other explanation could be that the drifter had lost it from
being down in the cellar for almost a day—temporary delusions from dehydration and hunger. Sam looked slightly nervous now, so Tom kept
talking, asking the question that he figured would be all-telling. “But
since ya seem t’ believe Hank’s ghost is here, why cain’t I see ’im?
He was my half-brother after
all.” Although Tom had not really fallen for the
ghost story, Sam figured he would have to stick with it now. He
looked at the farmer and shrugged. “Because
he doesn’t want you to see him.
As I said, he’s understandably upset with you.
But… that’s not what he’s here for now. He
told me that your brother Paddy is in the hospital with pesticide poisoning.
The doctors think they have it taken care of, but he’s going
to relapse, so we need to contact them right away and catch it before it’s
too late.” Sam waited for
that comment to sink in. Tom looked like he was contemplating Sam’s
words. The leaper was not sure
that he believed a word he said, and Al was just slapping his forehead in
disbelief, but the mention of Paddy in danger did seem to disturb the farmer
some. After all… what if he
ignored Sam and something happened to his brother? Then
that would be on his head too. “Now how would I know that
if a ghost hadn’t told me?” Sam questioned him after a moment,
unwavering. “I’ve been
locked up in the cellar for nearly a day, and I had no inkling about what
was going on up here.” When Tom said nothing and just stared with
narrowed eyes, Sam took another sip of water. “Look,
I’ll make a deal with you. If
I’m right about Paddy, and Hank assures me I am,” Sam said, glancing
over at Al again, who was just rolling his eyes and mumbling to himself at
the approach Sam was taking, “then you let me stay on as a hired hand. I’ll
keep your secret if you give me a place to stay and work. I
really have nowhere else to go.” “Now listen here, Marty, you ain’t in no
situation to be makin’ demands,” Tom returned, his anger beginning to
rise more. “There ain’t no ghost o’ Hank floatin’ ’round here,
that’s for damn sure. Now
about Paddy, you musta been hearin’ all the goin’s-on last night from
the cellar. That’s all there
is to it, all right?!” Sam backed off a little but was still
determined to follow through with his proposed plan.
Tom continued tearing apart the leaper’s story.
“An’ just how does ‘Hank’ know he’s gonna relapse? Shouldn’t
them doctors know what they’re doin’, after all? Sure, I’d like another pair o’ hands on the farm, but yer
probably thinkin’ about tellin’ the boys about the whole Hank biznis,
ain’t ya?” Tom sounded
paranoid, but to him, he needed to keep the real story of Hank’s death
secret no matter what, and some insane drifter wasn’t somebody he was
going to trust very much. Sam Beckett could see that his plan wasn’t
exactly working and was just getting Tom irritated.
Al shrugged his shoulders, a mix between an “I told you so” and
an “I don’t have any better ideas.” Sam
frowned at his observer but tried to keep his attention on Tom. He
was in this and could not backtrack now. He
understood why the farmer was skeptical, and Sam knew he wouldn’t believe
it if someone said a “ghost” was telling him things either, but Paddy
needed help, and telling Tom he knew all about Hank and about Paddy’s
danger should have at least made him seriously consider that he had gotten
his information from an otherworldly source. After
all, Sam did hear a lot from the cellar, but certainly not so acutely as to
find out about the whole pesticide incident or that Tom had confessed to
Hank’s murder. Sam decided to take a different approach. “Look, Tom, I know you don’t trust me, but I’m still
asking you to believe me. I
have some secrets of my own… why do you think I ran away from Indiana? They had me locked up in some asylum because I ‘saw’
things… and it scared them since I was usually right.” This was spinning a tall tale if there ever was one. “I
don’t want to go back there… they’ll just lock me up again. So…
can’t we just help each other? What
do you have to lose on checking out my story about Paddy? I promise, if I’m wrong, you can kick me out and I’ll move
on without a word to anyone… but if I’m right, will you hire me on?” The leaper watched the farmer’s face closely
and hoped he was getting through to him, as convoluted as the story sounded. From the other man’s expression, Tom felt that there was
some truth in there somewhere. After
a couple of seconds of silence, Tom decided things couldn’t get much worse
than they already were. “All right, Marty, but remember that I’ve
got my eye on you. You so even
start mentionin’ Hank and that biznis and you’ll find yourself in the
hospital, too. We got a
deal?” he proposed, offering his hand. Sam wanted to crack a smile when Tom accepted
the proposal, but he kept a straight face and nodded, shaking hands with a
man who ten minutes ago could have easily killed him on the spot, despite
Al’s statement. “Thanks,
Tom,” Sam said. “I take it
you were going to visit Paddy today anyway, so I would recommend we don’t
wait too long to do it.” He
could still see a glimmer of skepticism in the farmer’s expression.
“I assure you, I’m right about this.” “Yeah, I was gonna go visit ’im in ’bout
a half-hour. Hank tell you
that, too?” he responded snidely. “But
considerin’ yer goin’ t’ be so cooperative, an’ I hope yer a man of
yer word, Marty,” Tom said as he eyed him, “we might as well be headin’
there now. The boys’ll be mighty confused about yer bein’ there, so
how’s about we tell ’em ya came on back here since ya figured I might
help ya agin. Ya can stay here
so long as ya don’t tell a soul nothin’ ’bout Hank.” Doctor Beckett nodded at the conditions. Tom figured that he could hold over Marty the fact that Billy
was just a phone call away to get in touch with the institutions in Indiana.
Sam’s stomach let out a loud growl and his face turned red as he
tried to disguise his embarrassment by downing the rest of his water.
The noise did not go unnoticed by Tom.
“Listen, there’s some leftover bacon in the fridge.
Yer free t’ have it, I s’pose.” Nodding appreciatively, the leaper removed the food
from the refrigerator and gobbled it down, not bothering to warm it up.
On the inside, Tom was laughing at how quickly Sam gobbled down the
bacon. He figured he
shouldn’t be fainting in the truck or at the hospital or something from
malnutrition—that
would only cause more problems. After allowing Sam to get a change of pants,
formerly belonging to Hank much to the leaper’s chagrin, the two men
boarded Tom’s 1956 Chevy and sped down the highway.
The country music that Tom played on the way made him almost forget
how much trouble his passenger had caused, whereas Sam almost wished that he
were back in the basement to be spared the tunes emitting from the radio. “Well, Sam, as much as I’d love to stick
around and enjoy the music,” commented Al with a teasing tone, “I think
I’ll head back for a while and see if there’s anything else from Ziggy.
Not to mention, I’m starving.” Though the leaper could not respond verbally,
not wanting Tom to think Hank’s spirit was permanently around, he nodded
his head softly to the observer, who promptly disappeared as the Imaging
Chamber shut down. ¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤ Tuesday,
March 28, 2006 00:25
MST Stallion’s
Gate, New Mexico “Has anything changed, Ziggy?” the admiral
questioned as he walked through the blue room toward the Door, which
promptly opened before him. The
computer did not respond until he was standing in the small alcove between
the Imaging Chamber and the Control Room. “Negative, Admiral.
Doctor Beckett is still there to prevent Patrick Mulhill’s death
and to keep Martin Adler from becoming a full-time criminal.
I am projecting those scenarios with eighty-two-point-three percent
and seventy-nine-point-seven percent certainties, respectively,” the
disembodied female voice said in a velvety tone. Sucking in some air between his teeth, Al
continued on into the Control Room, seeing Dominic Lofton and Tina
Martinez-O’Farrell at the controls. The
former swallowed hard and forced a smile while the latter smacked on her gum
and gave the admiral a warm grin. “Beth’s
lookin’ for ya,” the pulse communication technician stated before
blowing a large, purple bubble. “Thanks, Tina,” he said and promptly left
Control, keeping the handlink with him for the time being.
He knew that Sam would need him again soon if the way this leap had
been progressing continued in the fashion so far.
As he sauntered down the hallway, he was about to ask Ziggy where his
wife was, but quickly closed his mouth when he turned the corner and saw
Donna Elesee up ahead. She gave
him a wave and had a familiar look on her face. “How’s he holding up, Al?” Sam’s wife
asked right away, stopping in her tracks. “As well as can be expected.
I think he’s a little bummed at how the leap’s been going, but we
both know he’ll be happy when he leaps out and has done his job,” Al
told her, smiling slightly to encourage his words. Donna nodded her head in agreement and grinned
in return. “Oh, before I
forget, Beth’s in your office waiting for you.
Something about a missed dinner appointment?” Admiral Calavicci rolled his eyes.
“She knew I was busy with Ziggy all day.
It must have slipped my mind,” he replied, glancing at his watch.
To his disbelief, it was nearly half-past midnight.
Returning his gaze to Doctor Elesee, he thanked her and continued on
his way, and she hers. Hearing
her sigh as she moved on, Al wondered how much longer the woman could wait
for her husband to return for good. Entering his office, Al saw his wife leaning
against his desk, with a pretend look of disappointment on her face.
“Are you cheating on me, flyboy?” Beth teased. “I heard you decided to spend the celebratory dinner that you
suggested with a younger woman… a co-worker no less.” “Well, Ziggy’s a demanding woman,” the
admiral said with a devilish smile. He
glanced at the single crutch leaning against his sofa and moved to put his
arms around Beth’s waist. “But
I could go for a quick bite now. Sam
has about an hour before he’ll need me again, and being rid of one of your
two extra limbs is certainly a call for celebration.” “As long as we don’t do any dancing, I
think I’ll be just fine,” Beth giggled, planting a kiss on her
husband’s lips. “Despite what Aurora says, my ankle’s feeling pretty much
back to normal now.” She
freed herself of Al’s comforting embrace and took the crutch under her
arm. “Shall we?” Nodding eagerly, realizing how empty his
stomach really was, Al took her free hand and the couple exited the office,
slowly walking down the corridor to the elevator. ¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤ Wednesday,
June 8, 1960 11:46
EDT Wallace
Thomson Hospital, Union, South Carolina Earlier in the morning, Mick had just come
back from the cafeteria. Paddy
was still sleeping peacefully, although shaking a bit. The
room was not cold, but Mick suspected that Paddy’s condition had brought
on fever. The older brother
took the blankets and covered Paddy up, hoping that would make him more
comfortable. The movement
caused the patient to stir, and he opened his eyes to look at his visitor. “How ya feelin’?” Mick asked him,
noticing that Paddy’s eyes didn’t look very good, and actually seemed
slightly worse than in the morning. Not
being a doctor, Mick just figured it was part of the healing process. “Hot… too hot,” whispered Paddy in
answer, his throat feeling sore. The
heat was starting to become unbearable for him. Mick
decided to take the blankets back some, not all the way, and hoped that a
doctor would be in soon to check up on Paddy. “You just hold still, li’l brother,”
Mick comforted him. “You’ll
be better soon.” As much as
he wanted to believe that, he could not help but recall how both of his
parents and another brother, George, had all died at different times in the
very same hospital. “I sure hope so, Mick,” Paddy rasped in
response, feeling sweat beginning to form on his forehead. Both men looked up when they heard movement at
the door. Doctor Phillip
Warren, M.D., the physician in charge of Paddy’s care, walked into Room
304, finding Patrick sweating in bed while refusing blankets from his
brother. “G’mornin’, Patrick. How’re
ya feelin’ right now?” the doctor asked as he checked his patient’s
chart to see that at seven thirty he was looking fine, though he was
sleeping at the time. “Not so good, Doc. I
feel like I’m on fire all over again,” Paddy managed to get out before a
sharp pain ran through his being, causing him to cringe. Doctor Warren asked with concern what was happening, but the
youngest Mulhill brother could not manage a response. The
pain was too much. “I'll be right back,” Warren informed the
two men and walked briskly out of the room to the nurses’ station down the
hall. “Nurse Hatcher,” he said to the portly
nurse behind the counter, “have full doses of these three medications
delivered to 304, stat.” He
pointed out the three on Paddy’s chart and she nodded. Betty-Lou
Hatcher memorized the medicines and told him to take the chart back with
him. Re-entering Paddy’s room, Doctor Warren
found no change. “Where is
the pain, Patrick?” he asked, leaning closer to the patient so that he
would not have to strain to speak. When
no voice came but a hoarse whisper, the doctor diagnosed a serious sore
throat. Paddy squinted tightly at the pain shooting up his spine,
which only worsened his headache. “Is he gonna be okay, Doc? He
looks mighty bad… he weren’t this way last night.”
Mick stared at him expectantly. “Yes, Mick, he’ll be just fine. I
think the nurse this morning mighta just plum forgot to re-administer ’is
medication. I’m gonna give
’im ’is shots soon as Betty-Lou gets here with ’em,” the doctor
responded, just as Nurse Hatcher entered the room with some needles. Mick shivered at the sight. He hated needles, but put on a brave face for his ill brother. “Now, Pat,” Mick said softly, “these
here healers gonna fix you right up.”
Paddy could only mumble an affirmative response in answer to Mick’s
attempt to comfort him. “Here ya go, Doctor,” the nurse said,
handing him the syringes she had filled with medication. “Thank you, Nurse. Are
the soothing balm and the I.V. bag on their way as well?” he asked as he
prepared the first syringe. As
he injected it into Paddy’s arm, the doctor could see that his patient was
not appreciative of the prick in his arm and Mick tried not to squint when
he saw the needle go in. After both doses from the syringes had been
administered, Nurse Hatcher returned with a small container and an I.V. bag.
She proffered the jar containing the balm to the doctor and
then attached the bag to the I.V. pole beside Paddy’s bed. “Thank y’ kindly, Betty-Lou,” Doctor
Warren replied with a smile as she hung the I.V. bag on the tree. He
placed the salve on the bedside table and then took a look at Paddy.
“Now, I’m gonna be leavin’ you in the tender care o’ Nurse
Hatcher here,” he commented, trying to get his patient to manage a grin. “She’ll
take good care o’ ya.” Paddy
did break a small smile at that, and the doctor nodded at him before
plunking the chart into the bin at the end of the bed and heading off to
make the rest of his rounds. The nurse promptly proceeded to apply the
cream to Paddy’s face, bringing instant relief to the suffering man. He
could feel his skin cooling and the fever coming down, though it was still a
little too warm for comfort. “Now, you just lay back and relax here,
Patrick,” she said, fluffing up his pillow a bit. “I’ll
be back later to check on ya.” The
nurse then nodded to his brother. “And
you look like ya could use some shut eye, too, young man,” she told him. Mick smirked politely and said, “I reckon I
could, ma’am.” With a sideways smile, the nurse nodded again
and headed out the door to attend to other patients.
Mick sat back in his chair, already feeling exhausted, but he could
only imagine how poorly Paddy was feeling. The
nurse had said maybe he should get some sleep too, and seeing Paddy looking
pretty comfortable now, Mick didn’t think that was such a bad idea, and
without knowing it, he dozed off as well. PART
THIRTEEN
Wednesday,
June 8, 1960 12:30
EDT Wallace Thomson Hospital, Union, South Carolina They were moving along in the pick-up truck
about as fast as Tom felt safe on the road, about ten miles per hour over
the speed limit, and he just wanted to get the charade over with and have
Martin Adler committed back to Indiana. He
figured they didn’t need any more mental cases in South Carolina than they
already had. They arrived at the hospital and pulled into a
parking spot, and Tom was the first to speak after disengaging the engine. “Well, Marty, I shure hope yer wrong ’bout Paddy. I
don’t want that brother o’ mine in any more trouble than he already must
be.” Wordlessly, Sam nodded and followed Tom into
the hospital. A nurse at the
main desk directed them to the third floor and they took an elevator up.
Approaching a corpulent nurse at another desk, she told them Paddy
was in Room 304. The two men
walked in that direction, and as they entered the room, Sam watched Tom
closely. The man was very
sharp, so the leaper knew he was really going to have to make sure he played
his cards right. When Mick woke up, he glanced at the clock and
saw it was half-past noon. Paddy
was still in a state of semi-sleep, and after rubbing his eyes, Mick heard a
noise in the doorway, expecting the nurse to be returning. To
his surprise, it was his older brother, Tom, followed by whom he saw as the
drifter Marty. “Tom… I…
you…” he sputtered out, eyeing up Sam. “I’m
glad you’re here, Boss. Pat’s
in an awful fix.” “Now just calm down there, Mick. And
ya don’t need t’ call me ‘Boss’ when we ain’t on duty; ya know
that,” Tom responded calmly, trying to smile at him. It was hard on the farmer having a stranger with him while
looking at his youngest brother in pain, lying in a hospital bed.
Paddy seemed to be sleeping with his face all scrunched up. “What’s wrong with Patrick here?” Tom
continued as he met Mick’s gaze, wanting some definite answers. “He’s
gonna be all right, ain’t ’e?” Mick wanted a darned good explanation as to
why Marty was at the hospital, but for the moment, he answered Tom’s
question. “I’m thinkin’ so. The
doctors were here a couple o’ hours ago and gave him some other
medication; said some nurse forgot to give it to ’im earlier. He wasn’t lookin’ so good ’fore they gave him that,
though. Seems to be sleepin’
peacefully now.” Sam, no longer able to contain himself from
taking a first-hand look at Paddy, went behind Tom and around toward the
bed, and began to look over the youngest Mulhill brother. Al
popped into existence all of a sudden, saying that Ziggy did not have any
good projections on Paddy’s condition.
The odds of his survival were falling, and that didn’t make much
sense to Sam, considering that he was there at that moment. “What?” the leaper declared out loud
before he realized what he had done. Tom
gave him an evil glance and Doctor Beckett quickly cleared his throat,
turning his attention back toward Paddy on the bed. “I don’t know what to say, Sam.
You’re gonna have to play this one out carefully,” was all the
observer could offer before joining Sam at Paddy’s bedside, stifling a
yawn. Patrick Mulhill didn’t
look good at all. Of course,
Sam hadn’t seen what he looked like when the accident had first happened,
but the leaper could only guess that Paddy had gotten worse. He
really needed to talk to a doctor and find out all the details. Tom also closed in on the bed to get a better
look at Paddy. From his
perspective, Paddy was looking much better than the day before: the
swelling had gone down and his color was better than the red irritation he
had had the previous night. When
he looked back to Mick, he was staring at Sam, still highly curious about
the additional visitor. “Marty here come back to the house this
mornin’; got lost after I sent ’im out yesterday.
I couldn’t very well leave ’im alone at the farm, so I figured I
might as well bring ’im here with me,” Tom lied, though convincingly. He
was adept at making things up by this time.
“Did the doctor say yet when we can take Paddy back on home?” “Doc didn’t say.
I s’pect ’e could be here another day though with this mix-up
with the meds.” “Cain’t they do a damned thing right
around here?” Tom cursed, getting an agreeing nod from Mick. He
then watched on in surprise as Sam began to inspect Paddy. Sam leaned down and carefully lifted Paddy’s
eyelids, feeling the heat coming from his skin. The
pupils were dilated, which wasn’t a good sign. Paddy
stirred a bit as Sam examined him, and he could only guess that his
temperature was somewhere in the danger zone of over 103 degrees Fahrenheit.
Sam looked back at Tom and
Mick. “He’s not going
anywhere for a while.” Tom glared at him wildly. “What,
you some kinda doctor now?” he demanded, suspicions rising once again. They
had agreed that Tom wouldn’t reveal Marty’s “situation” in Indiana
as long as Sam would keep quiet about Hank. “I’ve done some… doctorin’ in my time.
You have to trust me on this,” Sam replied.
Whether Tom thought that Sam was getting this info from Hank’s
ghost or was a madman or whatever, the bottom line was that he at least
believed the leaper enough to get some help.
“I suggest that one of you go and get a doctor.” Mick couldn’t believe that the drifter was
giving orders now to Tom, or that Tom had let him back after he went off
telling Billy that the Mulhills had been abusing their livestock. At
the same time, Marty seemed pretty concerned for Paddy. Mick looked to Tom for guidance… he felt if a doctor was
needed, they should get on it right away. Tom shifted in his position, considering what
Sam had said. He seemed dead
serious about having a doctor come look at Paddy, and Mick was staring at
Tom. Nodding toward Mick, the elder Mulhill said, “Go get the
doctor,” and Mick rushed out of the room. Once alone, save Paddy, Tom turned to the
leaper. “You’d better know
what yer doin’, Marty.” Sam watched as Tom sent off Mick to grab a
doctor. He could only hope that
the doctors here knew what they were doing. Sam
assured Tom that he knew what he was talking about. “I don’t lie about important matters,” the
time-traveling physicist said. “If
your brother is going to live through this, he’s going to need something
more than what they’ve given him.” Tom still looked skeptical as he glanced down
at Paddy. Sam knew the farmer
was not going to recognize the signs of extreme sickness, but it would be
obvious to anyone with eyes that Paddy was in bad shape, in his opinion. While they waited for Mick to come back with
the doctor, Tom asked why he had yelled “What?” earlier. Sam
knew that was coming. “Nothing… just…” Sam answered,
glancing at Al for guidance. The
observer simply shrugged his shoulders and frowned. “Hank’s ghost?” Tom jeered, scowling. Sam cleared his throat. “Well,
so far he’s been right on everything he’s told me,” said Sam
defensively. After all, he was
going to keep up this charade as long as he could. What
did it matter as long as it got the results he needed? Sam noticed Tom pat the gun in his pocket, almost by reflexive
action, as he glared at the leaper. He
prayed that the doctor who came would be able to figure out what he already
knew—that
Paddy wasn’t going to get better
without further treatment. Paddy, in his muddled mind, could hear voices
around him. One, to his relief,
was Tom’s, and was glad to hear his voice despite how hard he was on them
at the farm. The other one was
familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it… then he heard a third
accompanied by some kind of unnatural squealing noise. Opening his eyes, Paddy saw three men staring
down at him. He was right, one
was Tom, and to his surprise one was Marty, the accursed drifter. The third man he had never seen before and was dressed up in a
purple suit topped with a fedora and a bright, green tie.
Paddy blinked a couple of times and met the third man’s gaze, who
got a look of shock on his face before disappearing all of a sudden. “Hey, where’d the guy in the ugly suit
go?” Paddy questioned wearily. It
still hurt for him to speak, and his skin was feeling worse than before the
nurse applied the cream. Sam was taken aback. “Al?”
he said on impulse, looking instinctively behind himself, but the hologram
had disappeared. “Al?” Tom looked at him strangely. Sam turned back toward him, hoping that his
cheeks weren’t completely red due to his embarrassment of letting that
slip. “Aaa…’ll bet Paddy’s just delirious. But I’m glad he’s awake.” Now Tom’s suspicions were rising further.
Had Sam been Southern, he could have accepted that as an accented
“I’ll,” but he was from the Mid-West, so something else was being
covered up. Maybe
the ghost he keeps talkin’ about is named Al, not Hank.
Wait, what am I thinkin’?! There
ain’t no ghosts in this room nor anywhere else! the farmer raged
inside of his head. Sam couldn’t believe it: Paddy
could see Al! This new
information might prove to be detrimental. Paddy
certainly wasn’t mentally ill, and obviously he wasn’t a child under
five or an animal, so the only explanation was that his severe condition had
altered his brain patterns enough for him to detect the hologram’s
presence. Sam knew that
occasionally people were on a similar brainwave pattern as him, such as the
Scrooge-like guy and another man he couldn’t quite place, but that was
rare. Whatever the reason, it was going to take some explaining, and
Sam was already in pretty deep with Tom. Hopefully
he would just let it go and think that Paddy was just hallucinating. Sam
looked down at him. “Paddy…
you’re okay,” said Sam, just ignoring the question. “It’s
Marty… I know you’re surprised to see me, but I’m here to help you.” “Not… okay,” Paddy managed to say, his
skin feeling worse than even right during the accident. He
felt so weak, the words taking every ounce of strength for him to push out.
Marty’s being there confused him, and his brain wasn’t feeling
much better than his skin, which he could feel was starting to sweat
again… the fever was back. The shots Doctor Warren had given him had helped, but now he
felt like things were getting worse again. “More
crea…” he croaked out. Doctor Warren was just heading out of the door
of his office to have lunch with a few of his colleagues when Mick Mulhill
nearly ran him down in a panic, telling him that Paddy needed attention
immediately. Rushing back to Room 304 alongside him, they found two men
looking over the patient and the doctor assumed that they were more
relatives. One of them said
that he was there to help, and Warren interjected. “I
think a doctor might be more helpful to ’im at the moment, sir,” he said
politely as he stepped beside him to take a look at the now-reddened Patrick
Mulhill. Sam was impressed that Mick had found a doctor
so promptly. It was obvious how
much he cared about his brother from the look on his face. The
doctor rushed over to Paddy, and Sam was thankful he looked as concerned as
he felt. “His skin is even
more red than when we got here,” the leaper told him, hoping to get a clue
as to what treatments they had administered. Doctor Warren looked over Patrick Mulhill,
noticing that he indeed looked worse than when he was admitted the night
prior and just about as bad as he was three hours before, after finding out
he didn’t have his seven thirty dosage. Figuring
that he needed more of the healing salve, he pressed the nurse’s call
button. Nurse Hatcher appeared in the doorway five seconds later.
“I think we need some more of that there salve for Mister Mulhill
here,” he told her. She
nodded and started to leave the room. Doctor Warren was new to the hospital and to doctoring in
general, but he had seen pesticide poisoning in his day. Some
more of that cream and bed rest would help his patient get through this. When the nurse returned, it was getting
crowded in Room 304. There were
two more men besides Mick Mulhill who had apparently come to visit along
with the doctor in there as well, making Betty-Lou feel nearly suffocated. They
cleared a path for her though, and she re-applied the cream she had earlier
to Patrick’s skin. To her, he
looked even worse than earlier that morning, but she knew that if his skin
needed fewer itches, this salve was the thing to do it. Paddy was grateful, because, as with anything, when a good
thing wears off, one always wants more, and there are few things worse than
burning, itchy skin to get one down. The
nurse finished with the job, nodding to the doctor. Sam watched on as the nurse applied ointment
to Paddy’s skin. Before that,
he had been scratching at his arms incessantly from the itch, which made
them even redder than they already were. Suddenly
something occurred to the leaper… when Paddy whispered he had said
something about “more crea…” was he saying “more cream”? Doctor Warren also watched on as Betty-Lou
gave Paddy another application of the healing cream. He
was not sure what was in it, but it was recommended in the manual for
pesticide exposure as a way to soothe the burning skin in serious cases such
as this one. When Betty-Lou
nodded to him, he made a small grin and thanked her. Sam had a hunch, and he was not happy about it
since he had just seen the nurse reapply the balm all over Paddy again. He turned to the doctor as the nurse left the room.
“Excuse me, but did you just start putting that cream on him this
morning?” “This is the second application, yes. Unfortunately, the one meant to be first applied was missed at seven thirty this mornin’. It’s standard for cases such as Patrick here,” he |