VIRTUAL SEASONS EPISODES

Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top-secret project known as Quantum Leap.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator…and vanished.

 

He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the Project Observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.

 

As evil and neutral forces alike do their best to stop Dr. Beckett’s journey, his children, Dr. Samantha Josephine Fulton and Stephen Beckett, continuously strive to retrieve their time-lost father and bring him home permanently.  Despite returning home several times over the last decade, Dr. Beckett has remained lost in the time stream…his final fate no longer certain.

 

Trapped in the past and driven by an unknown force, Dr. Beckett struggles to accept his destiny as he continues to find himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong with the hopes that his next leap…will be the final leap home.

 

Summary of Part I:'

Sam leaped into Howie Lockwood, a young college student vacationing with friends at Walt Disney World just prior to the Nights of Joy.  Hampered by firewalls and sealed records, all the Project was able to tell Sam was that his mission was to prevent one of the group, Russell Lovet-Hurston, Jr. from vanishing after the vacation ended.  Meanwhile, Al was struck by how unique a Visitor Howie Lockwood, Sam’s host, proved to be.

PART ONE

Disney-MGM Studios Theme Park

Walt Disney World

Thursday, September 11, 1997

8:00 PM

After getting through The Great Movie Ride, Russ had followed Skip and Ginger back out onto the street outside.  He laughed and chatted with them about the ride, but as they started back the way they had come, he slowly lagged a little behind them yet always keeping them in sight.  When they drew near to Echo Lake, he glanced toward his companions and seeing them still laughing and cracking up about this or that aspect of the ride, Russ slipped quietly from amongst the other park visitors and headed for the lake.

The light was just dim enough to give him some seclusion yet still see his way along the bank of the manmade lake.  He followed it around to the point that he'd stopped at earlier in the day.  Stepping out of the way of a small family group so they could pass by, he finally turned to face the water.  As a soft waft of air blew in his face, Russ' gaze searched the water then lifted to the horizon where the last straggling bits of evening light were slipping away.

Inside, where no one but he and God could see, Russ again looked into the emptiness that was so big and so lonely.  *Where are you, God?* he whispered into the void. *I'm here... and I need You... I want you... but... where are You?*  He paused, a strong wash of emotion welling through him, the ache of it just enhancing the echo of his words back to him. It almost seemed as if another, gentler voice was whispering back to him.

**Russ...**

"Hey, Russ! There you are!" Skip called out as he and Ginger walked up to Russ. "For a coupla of minutes, we thought you'd gone back for another chance to ride those rails again! Wasn't that gangster thing wild!?"

Russ grinned in what he hoped was a convincing manner.  "Yeah.  I swear I got extraterrestrial goo dripped on me when we went through the scene from Alien."

"Are you sure that wasn't Skip sneezing on you?" teased Ginger, poking a slender finger playfully into Skip's ribs.

"Hey!  I resemble that remark!" Skip quipped.  He peered through the gloaming to see Howie cutting up with the other girls over a bright T-shirt.  "There's the rest of the gang.  Let's catch up with them and," he affected a gangster's accent, "blow this Popsicle stand."

He led the way over.  Russ followed, his face amiable enough, but his soul still tormented, his mind focused on the whisper he wasn't sure he'd heard.  By the time they reached the others, he'd convinced himself it had all been his imagination, and once again he yearned for the emptiness within to be filled.

Sam, still goofing with Karen and Juanita about the T-shirt, turned at the sound of Skip's voice, though his gaze went immediately to Russ.  From what he could see, Russ was in as light and jovial a mood as his companions. But one of the many lessons he'd learned early on in his leaping was to not always take face value as the final answer. That, coupled with what Al had told him, assured him that behind the grin and jokes was a young man hurting badly.  Again he wondered how he was supposed to reach through Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr.'s pain and help him through his crisis.

***Shouldn't you be more concerned about your own failures?***

Inside, Sam went still, for a moment stunned before hastily brushing aside the mean little whisper, the echo of which was just fading at the back of his mind.

"Hey, Howie? What's with the neon colored t-shirt?" Russ teased. "You planning a career as a rescue flare or something?"

Sam turned to see Russ gesturing with the Fozzie Bear T-shirt in his hand, having been shown the contents of the bag by Karen.  Sam rolled his eyes and grinned.  "Well, somebody's gotta point the way, don't they?"

To his surprise, Russ merely nodded and returned the shirt to the bag, passing it back to Karen without uttering another word.  A moment later he stretched.  "You know, if we stay for the fireworks, we'll have to leave with everyone else.  I mean, we'll catch fireworks tomorrow night before the Night of Joy begins.  What say we bail out and head back to the resort?"

The girls started to protest, but they were feeling the effects of their flight as well, and so the argument didn't last long.  They did insist that the guys allow them to peruse the gift shops on Hollywood Boulevard, the main thoroughfare leading to the park entrance.

"Fifteen minutes tops," Sam insisted.  "Or it won't make any difference us leaving early.  We'll get stuck in the mass exodus all the same."  Already crowds were congregating in the center area, preparing for the fireworks display.  It had been years since Sam had been to a Disney park (more years than he cared to think about, in all honesty), but he was aware that when it came to pyrotechnics, Disney set the mark to which all others strove.  In truth, he wouldn't have minded staying to watch, but he had to admit the prospect of returning to the resort, and away from the crowds, was more than appealing.

Though each store appeared to be a separate entity from the street, they actually flowed one into the next on the inside.  Sam was incredibly relieved by that fact, as that meant they wouldn't have to keep going in and out.  While the shops were full of guests milling about, due to the displays, racks, and shelves, the crowds were dispersed and manageable, nothing like the veritable sea of people outside on Hollywood Boulevard.

True to their agreement, the girls completed their shopping in only slightly over fifteen minutes, and it was Russ and Skip who had to be coerced outside.  The object to which they were devoting so much attention was a Mousecar award... a small gold-plated statue of Mickey Mouse instead of the golden Oscar.  Several categories were available to choose from, and Russ and Skip whispered and giggled worse than the girls as they lifted first one and then another.  Ultimately, they left without purchasing any of them, and Sam, suspicious, wondered what they'd been considering.

They were just nearing the entrance to the park when one last shop to the right caught Juanita's eye, and she pointed.  "Oh, please... just five minutes in there?  Please?  You know I'm a sucker for Hollywood memorabilia."  They followed the line of her pointing finger to a small bungalow bearing the name Sid Cahuenga's One-of-a-Kind.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Sam said, "Okay."

Juanita squealed and hurried into the shop, Karen and Ginger on her heels.  The boys followed at a slower pace, but Skip's eyes widened and he beamed at an autographed photo of Carrie Fisher in her skimpy Jabba costume.  "Hey, this store might not be so bad after all," he grinned.

Sam had rolled his eyes so much in the last twenty minutes, it was like they had set to automatic, as once more they rolled, this time at Skip's comment. However that didn't prevent him from finding the photograph in question and grinning, even as he said, "You're starting to be almost as bad as the girls when it comes to souvenirs, pal," he cracked.

Skip just grinned wider as he shrugged and followed the girls into the shop.  "So sue me," was all he said.

Sam turned to Russ. "You going in, too?"

"Might as well," he responded lightly as he headed for the door of the shop. "At least we can ride herd on them and make sure that it really is *only* five minutes." Flashing a grin at Sam as they got inside, he added, "I'll tag along behind the girls. You keep an eye on Skip."

"Gee, thanks," Sam said then turned to scan the shoppers busily examining and discussing the merits of this or that one souvenir out of all that were available.  He didn't have far to look to find Skip who was, true to the moment outside, perusing through a selection of autographed photographs of a variety of some of Hollywood's most famous stars.

"So, have you found her yet?" Sam asked, coming up beside Skip.

"Yeah, I found her, all right," Skip groused.  He turned the signed photos over to show the price tags to Sam.  "I can't afford *any* of these!"

Laughing, Sam nudged the football player and indicated a corner of the shop where the girls had armsful of unsigned photographs.  "I bet the prices are a bit more reasonable over there."

Skip dropped the autographed pictures back into the box from which they'd come and jogged (trying to look cool and failing miserably) over to the girls.  "What have you got here?" he innocently asked.

"The Star Wars bin is over there, Skip," Ginger said lazily, pointing to the appropriate section.  Skip dutifully and eagerly flipped through the pictures, a small wolf-whistle of appreciation skipping him when he found an unsigned picture identical to the one he'd "admired" outside.  He looked at the price tag on the back and chuckled.  "5 bucks, that's more my speed."

Sam laughed and turned his attention to the girls.  "Narrowed your selection down yet?"

"I'm trying!" Juanita complained.  She held up two black and white photographs, both of young actors from the 1950s.  One was of the iconic James Dean, the other of an actor who bore a bit of a resemblance to him, but was wearing some sort of a starched English shirt with an undone collar.  "Oh, I don't know why I'm even asking *you* for help choosing," she crossly said, eyeing Sam.  She turned to Karen and Ginger and they resumed their whispering, weighing one photo over the other.  In the end, she took the James Dean photo to the register, the Rebel Without a Cause pose apparently winning out.

By the time everyone (except Sam and Russ, who hadn’t selected anything) had paid for their purchases and were again amongst the throng heading for the main entrance, a good deal more time than the originally agreed fifteen minutes had elapsed, thanks mostly to Skip going back for one last longing look at the signed photograph of Carrie Fisher.

It was closing in on 9 o'clock before the gang finally entered the Contemporary Resort and made their way up to their rooms.  As they stepped off on the eleventh floor, Sam could no longer hold back a wide yawn, pausing just a few steps down the hall to stretch.

Catching the others watching him, he grinned, albeit tiredly.  "My priorities start with a hot shower and end with my head making acquaintance with my pillow."

"In between those two monumental events," Karen reminded, patting Sam's back lightly in passing as she led the way down the hall to the room she and the other girls were sharing, "is the prayer circle."  Finding their room, she unlocked the door and entered.

Sam, on the other hand, was still standing in the hall, looking after Karen and the others as they moved around him. *Prayer circle?* he wondered, not really all that certain about being a part of it, though it did have a certain feel of familiarity for him at the same time. *Must be bleed through from Howie,* he thought as he responded to Skip poking his head out of a room just beyond that of the girls and calling out, "You coming in, or are you planning on curling up on the floor outside the door and let Mousekeeping clean you up sometime during the night?"

Shaking his head as he sheepishly answered, "No. Just... thinking about something."

"Well, unless you have sunk to the level of being unable to *think* and walk at the same time, get in here," Skip groused good-naturedly.  "If you're last to get in the bathroom, you just might not find a towel to use."

Reaching the room and entering, Sam closed the door then turned and stopped in his tracks as he did a wide-eyed scan of the screaming colors on the walls and bed coverings.

"Good night above," he muttered. "I've just wandered into Al's closet!"

"Who's Al?" Russ asked as he dropped down on one side of the double bed and started taking his shoes off.

It took a moment before the leaper could tear his eyes away from the eye-watering lime green walls long enough to realize that he'd been spoken to.  "Oh... uh... somebody I know who has a penchant for... invigorating color schemes in his wardrobe."

Pulling off his other shoe, Russ dropped it, grinning as he, too, looked around the room. "If he likes these colors, he must really love coloring Easter eggs."

"Easter eggs don't hold a candle to Al," Sam murmured as he finally moved toward the rollaway bed situated at an angle to the double bed that had obviously been claimed by Russ and Skip.  "When it comes to color, Al could put a psychedelic nightmare to shame!"

Russ laughed heartily.  Skip had apparently taken advantage of their conversation to jump in the shower, as running water could be heard, soon to be followed by Skip's loud singing.

"I've got a river of life flowing out of me

Makes the lame to walk and the blind to see

Opens prison doors, sets the captives free. 

I've got a river of life flowing out of me!"^a

"Too bad it can't make the tone deaf able to sing," commented Russ.  He got up and walked to the sliding glass door on the far wall of the room.  "C'mon, let's escape the visual AND auditory assault on our senses and go out here.  *This* is the real reason to stay here."

He opened the glass door and ushered Sam outside.  Once Sam set foot on the balcony, his breath was literally taken away by the sight awaiting him.  Across the dark expanse of the parking lot and access roads leading to the Magic Kingdom, Sam saw the park illuminated.  Cinderella Castle glowed blue, then pink, then orange as the illumination gradually changed.  To the right and nearer to them, the bright colors of Tomorrowland sparkled.  The clean lines of Mt. Fuji-inspired Space Mountain seemed so close Sam felt if he stretched far enough, he could touch the white structure.  His gaze swept out to the left, over the Seven Seas Lagoon, the spotlights of the various watercraft-bearing passengers from the Magic Kingdom as they headed back to the resorts or the parking area.

It was magical.

"Ohhh boy," Sam breathed after several minutes lost in the fascinating and glorious panoramic view.  Even then it was another moment before he could tear his eyes away.

"It's amazing to think that this all started with one man's vision," he said at last as he turned to look at Russ. But whatever had been about to follow that observation faded as the leaper got a close up look at Russ' expression.  Where he was certain that his own had likely resembled that of someone seeing the spectacular view for the first time - one of awe and wonder - the young college man's expression was so distant and unseeing as to make Sam wonder for a second if Russ had somehow fallen into a trance of some sort.

Uncertain if he should touch the young man, Sam finally just called his name softly, "Russ?"

"I wonder if the colors in heaven are anything like this," Russ responded, his voice a monotone.  Slowly he lifted one hand from the balcony rail and stretched it out like a child might as if attempting to touch the brilliant and ever-changing colors now painting the night sky with broad, breathing swipes and splashes.

Sam was startled slightly at the first explosions of the fireworks, the faint sounds of music emanating from the park not having served to warn him the spectacular show was about to start.  He took a calming breath and regarded Russ again.

"I would imagine they are," Sam answered, simply.  "But this is a nice foretaste."

"Mm-hmm," Russ nodded absently, his eyes fixed on the bright colors raining down on the park.  His face was bathed in blues and greens as the next series went off in perfect time to the accompanying track.

From the next balcony over, Sam heard the girls "ooh-ing" and "ahh-ing," the fireworks having drawn them outside as well.  He inhaled a deep breath and got ready to try to draw Russ into conversation, but a burly hand clapping down on his shoulder cut any such attempts off as Skip joined them on the balcony, smelling fresh from his recent emergence from the shower.

"Now that's a sight, ain't it?" he breathed.  "Russ, I'm gonna send your old man flowers for footing the bill for this!"

The light expression had returned to Russ' face as soon as Skip had stepped onto the balcony, and he grinned at the jock.  "Flowers are for sissies, he says.  You better just stick with a thank-you card."

Skip laughed and nodded, then poked Sam in the ribs.  "Dude, if you want to grab a shower before prayer circle, you better get going.  You'll see the fireworks tomorrow.  Meanwhile, Russ and I will enjoy the view for ya."

"You do that," Sam said as he moved away from the railing, pausing to watch as Skip took his place.  It made him feel a little easier knowing that Russ wasn't alone right now.  Gazing at the dark-haired young man that, to Sam's mind, bore a vague resemblance to an actor... Tom... Somebody... airplanes... guns...  Sam shook his head; he hated it when he could see a face of someone in his mind but couldn't put a name with it... he wished Al had been able to give him more to go on.  But even without such additional information, the leaper's instincts were starting to niggle at him more strongly each time he and Russ interacted.

"Dude, you gonna shower or wait for the evening dew to do a number on you?"

Chuckling, Sam rejoined the moment and went back into the room. Finding Howie's suitcase, he was grateful to find a small toiletry bag as well as a pair of pajamas. Taking both with him into the bathroom, he made short work of stripping out of his clothes and taking advantage of a long hot shower.  A quick shave and brushing his teeth completed the necessities. Pulling on the pajamas... *you really do have a thing for Fozzie Bear!*... was all Sam could think, even as he had to grin at the reflection in the mirror. For a split second, it felt like he had an insight into a tiny part of Howie Lockwood.

"Wocka, wocka, wocka," he whispered drolly to the reflection, then gathered his things and exited the bathroom.  Depositing the clothes on the floor near the suitcase, Sam returned the toiletry bag to the suitcase then went back to the balcony.

"You’re up, Russ," he said as he stepped carefully onto the balcony.  Looking out at the view again, he noticed that the brilliant illumination had shifted directions as it were.  Moving to stand between Skip and Russ, he followed their line of sight to the Seven Seas Lagoon below and to the left.

"Boy, when this place puts on an extravaganza, they really pull out all the stops!" he said as he watched the Electric Water Pageant in all its larger than life beauty.  Without looking away from it, he nudged Russ who was at his right. "Your turn," he reminded him. He spared a brief glance back when Russ acknowledged him and went inside the room.

By the time the last barge of the Electric Water Pageant was making its way out of sight, Skip and Sam were back in the room.  To cover not being sure what exactly was coming up with the prayer circle thing, Sam occupied himself with folding his used clothing. He watched furtively as Skip went into his own suitcase and brought out what appeared to be a well used Bible.

"What are you looking for?" Sam ventured as he dropped the folded dirty clothes on the floor in a more or less tidy pile again.

"Hmm? Oh, it's my turn to lead the prayer circle," Skip murmured as he skimmed a passage in his Bible.  The sound of the bathroom door opening, and Russ emerging and looking more relaxed than Sam had seen in the last couple of hours, drew Skip's attention.  Standing up from the bed, Bible in hand, one finger inserted to hold the place for the passage he had chosen, he headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

Opening the door, Skip gave him a fleeting odd look. "To the girls' room. You don't think they'd come in here in our little corner of pigsty heaven for the prayer circle do you?"

Even Russ laughed at that as he tossed his toiletry bag on the bed and headed for the door.

Sam managed a weak grin and went out the door, pausing as Skip closed the door, then followed him the few feet down the hall to the room occupied by the girls.  Once inside, and after a minute or two of one-upping and teasing about meeting in the girls' room because "At least in here we can find the floor!” they one by one found a spot on the floor, making a circle.  Sam opted to sit between Skip and Russ, remaining quiet as a mouse as the good-natured jock to his right started the prayer circle. Almost from the first word it was as if a quieting hand was laid over them, though it didn't quite suppress the fun that their surroundings seemed to exude and seep into everyone within its realm.

"I was thinking on the flight down," Skip began, "about how small everything looked from the plane.  And then I got to wondering, how amazing is it that even though we must practically look microscopic to God, even though we must be tinier than specks of dust, how amazing is it that He knows us individually, and He cares about us."  He paused and met the eye of each member of the group before looking down at the Bible in his lap for a moment.  Skip raised his head again.  "And I was just struck by this amazing wave of love and adoration for Him.  And so, what I want to bring to the devotional time tonight is from Psalm 42." 

Skip opened his Bible and began to read, "As the deer pants for the water brooks, so my soul pants for Thee, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?"⁴  He closed the Bible and looked at them all again.  "I just thirst for God so much right now."

For a moment all of them were quiet, then Karen offered her thoughts. "I really like that passage," she said quietly. "It always reminds me that no matter how bad things get in my life, no matter how hectic, God's always there to refresh me."

Sam remained silent then his gaze went to Juanita when she began to speak.

"It's like running a race or working on a term paper or... doing a job that seems like it's never going to end, you know?" She glanced around the circle, her gaze pausing on Russ then on Sam. "The deer gets thirsty for water and it knows where to go to find it." Her gaze was still on Sam in the aura of Howie. "I'm just so thankful that when this life makes me thirsty, I know where to go for refreshment better than anything in this world."

"Even iced mocha lattes?" Skip broke the moment.

"Way better than iced mocha lattes," Juanita affirmed.  She grinned at Skip, then said, "It's like Jesus told the woman at the well, 'whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.'⁵  He's the well that never runs dry."

"Preach it, sister," grinned Ginger.

Karen nodded her agreement to what Juanita had said, and added, "I just want to thank God for all He's done for us, don't you?"

Serious again, Skip agreed.  "Yeah, let's start praying.  Any specific requests?"

"Front row for Steven Curtis Chapman tomorrow night?" offered Ginger.

"Not quite what I was thinking of, but I'm with you," chuckled Skip.

Karen slowly lifted her hand to indicate she had a request.  "Y'all remember my parents.  Harvest time is coming up, and last time I talked with them, one of the crew had gotten hurt, so they're kinda shorthanded."

A twinge of longing, empathy, and wistfulness hit Sam at Karen's words, remembering his childhood and fond memories of the Becketts' dairy farm.  He then was niggled by the recollection that they'd lost the farm to bankruptcy, and he hoped the same wouldn't happen to Karen's family.

No one else had any requests, so Skip decided they'd get started.  "Let's all join hands," he said.  "I'll start, and then we'll go around the circle.  Ginger, you can pray after me, and Howie, you can close when it gets around to you."  He looked at them all in turn.  "Popcorn prayers are fine.  Don't feel like you have to preach a sermon."

He bowed his head and began, "Oh Lord, God, You are so incredible and mighty.  You fill our every need and You lift us up when we're down.  God, You quench our thirst and are a source of guidance and wisdom.  Father, we thank You for the opportunity You gave us to spend this weekend in fellowship together, Lord, to get to know each other better, to get to know You better, and to enjoy the talents of so many musicians who honor Your name."

As Skip prayed, Sam began frantically praying on his own, because all too soon he'd be called upon to pray aloud, a task he was certainly not up to.  While he tried to keep his attention on Skip's words, he pleaded that he wouldn't make a fool of himself or make a mockery of the prayer circle at his attempts.  He was all too aware of the truth of the words he'd spoken to Al earlier that day.  He hadn't darkened the doorstep of a church apart from Leaping, and it had been quite some time since a Leap had brought him into a church setting.

Next to him, and unbeknownst to him, Russ was burdened by thoughts distracting him from Skip's prayer as well.  The passage from Psalm 42 had touched some point within the void inside Russ to such an extent that he only vaguely heard the comments made by Karen and the others.  *I'm thirsty, Lord.  I've been to the well and I've drank but I'm still thirsty.* After a moment the same plaintive cry that had echoed in his soul by the lake once more reverberated into the emptiness: *Where are you God?*  He didn't realize to what extent he was drawn into the darkness he was struggling to find a way out of until he felt a light squeeze on his hand.

"Lord, I just thank you for all You are and all You are to me. Thank you for not giving up on me and for leading me day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute," Russ prayed. "I don't know how I got through life until You came into my life." He paused, waiting for words to come but they didn't and so, Russ waited for Howie to close.

Sam's heart was in his throat as he listened to Russ' prayer. *Please God... help me... what do I say?*

When it was clear that Russ had finished, Sam swallowed a couple of times and licked his lips, the thought of, *Here goes nothing* flitting through his head as he opened his mouth.  At first it was almost as if he were tongue-tied and inwardly he cringed, feeling his face burning as he stumbled. But then slowly it was like words were put in his mind and then found their way to his lips. He wasn't even sure where they came from.

"Lord, I don't know why you brought me here to this place," Sam prayed softly. "But now that I'm here, I hope... I know You'll show me why you wanted me here." He paused and took a soft deep breath then continued. "I fall more times than I can count and I get scared. But You're always with me... in one way or another. Thanks, Lord. I... I don't know how I'd get through... everything if You weren't holding onto me." He paused again but his mind was blank once more and he cobbled together a closing, ending with a soft, "Amen," which was echoed by the others in the circle.

The leaper thought for a moment, as he opened his eyes, that the circle was ended. But when Karen started to softly sing, Sam just became quiet.  From somewhere at the bottom of one of the many holes in his Swiss-cheesed memories, the words she and the others were singing struck a chord with him. He seemed to remember someone in his family, maybe his mother, or it might have been one of his grandparents, humming that tune when he was a little boy.

"When peace like a river attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll.

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul. 

It is well, with my soul.

It is well, it is well with my soul."^b

Silence reigned for another moment before Sam felt Skip squeeze his fingers and say a firm, "Amen."

The group sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, and then Karen said, "Well, we've got an early start tomorrow, I guess we should call it a night."  They all stood and exchanged a group hug, then the guys' left the girls' more spacious room.  (The girls apparently didn't have a problem sharing beds, though Sam couldn't judge who was getting a bed to herself.  There was no rollaway taking up floor space in their room.)

A short walk brought them back to their room, and with only a small measure of cutting up, they each peeled back the covers to their beds, and they each settled in, Skip in one bed, Russ in the other, and Sam on the rollaway.  They bade each other goodnight and switched off the lights, and Sam lay on his back staring up at the dark ceiling.

He thought back over the prayer time, and how amazed he was at this group of kids and the depth of their faith.  He thought about Russ' prayer and wondered at the disparity between Russ' words and the look he'd seen all too often for being in such a magical, happy place.  *I know Al said he disappears, and Al feels so strongly that I'm here for Russ.  But he SOUNDS like he has it all together, that he trusts God to see him through things.*

Sam sighed quietly, as he acknowledged that his own prayer would imply a deeper relationship with God than he actually had.  It wasn't hard to make the stretch that Russ could just be uttering the right words... just as he had.

And then his thoughts made an ugly turn.

***Why should He listen to you anyway?***

Sam brushed the thought away but unlike earlier, it came back stronger and more accusing.

***What about that girl in the hospital?***

It was like Sam couldn't help but respond.  *What girl? What hospital? I don't remember...*

***You don't remember what it was like to use that razorblade on your throat?*** The cold, hard little voice insisted.  ***Then why should you want to remember that you FAILED ... AGAIN!***

As if attempting to get away from the voice, Sam shifted onto his side, facing away from the other beds where Russ and Skip were succumbing to sleep. But the voice wasn't intimidated or thrown off track as it 'followed' Sam, almost it seemed, perching on his shoulder to be able to whisper in his ear.

*I tried,* he began, reciting the phrase that he knew he'd uttered in his defense too many times in the recent past, whatever that was.

***And you failed. You're useless. Maybe you used to do *some* good, but you’re no better than....***

*...no better than what?* Sam asked the nasty voice, despite himself.

***No better than one of those animatronic characters.  Just following the same script and set of useless actions.  It's all pointless.***

*No, no it's not!  I...  I...* Sam trailed off his argument, the faces of the lost floating before his eyes.  Tiny tears squeezed out of his eyes.  *No.*

***How much longer until Russ is added to the list of failures?*** hissed the voice, a wicked cackle in its tone.  ***How much longer until you finally add Sam Beckett to that list?  How much longer until you admit you can't do it?***

*I...*

***You can't do it alone.  And you are alone, Sam.  You're alone.***

*I can't do it alone,* Sam repeated to himself.  He drifted off to sleep repeating that phrase to himself.

PART TWO

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico

Monday, October 2, 2006

2250 hours

Sam’s advice echoed in Al’s ears as he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber.  He couldn’t help but be struck by the fact that first his wife and now Sam had urged him to speak with Howie.  Guilt surged within him at the memory of Howie’s confused face as Al had fled the Waiting Room to escape the dark memories that had risen within him at Howie’s analogy of his faith being like a lamp illuminating a dark path.  Unfortunately for Al, it was far easier for him to focus on the pitch-blackness of many of the paths he’d trod, looking down at his own feet and behind him instead of ahead at the light Howie was so confident provided guidance.

Al sighed, and turned his steps toward the cafeteria, feeling a slight twinge of hunger and fairly sure that the young Visitor probably felt the same twinge—undoubtedly to a greater degree, Al thought, recalling his days both at Annapolis and MIT and the marathon eating sessions that often took place.  He grabbed burgers, hot dogs, fries, and nachos, as well as a couple of chilled can drinks, then stacked it all and tried to keep it balanced as he made his way to the Waiting Room.  He didn’t even make it out of the cafeteria before he paused at a nearby table to readjust the go-boxes and slip the cans into the pockets of his jacket.

The guards’ eyes widened only slightly at Al’s burden when he returned to the Waiting Room, and they keyed the door open for him.  He stepped inside and Howie looked up from his position sprawled on his stomach atop the bed, the Bible open in front of him.  The young man’s face broke into a broad grin.

“How’d you know I was hungry?” he asked.

Al returned the grin.  “I was your age once, you know.”  He drew to the mirror-top table and spread the boxes across it, now withdrawing the cans from his pockets as well.  “Besides,” he added, “I thought you might accept my apology if I came bearing a peace pipe of sorts.”

For a moment Howie closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of the familiar aromas of the food in the go-boxes on the table, then exhaled.  Opening his eyes again, his gaze went to Al.  He recalled the confusion that had lingered with him for a good portion of the time after his new friend had hurried out of the large white room Howie now occupied.  The Visitor also recalled the strong emotion of their earlier conversation that had precipitated Al’s fleeing from this room, and kept his response light though not a whit less sincere.

“Apology…” he began then let his gaze dart to the go-boxes spread out on the table then back to Al. “…and ‘peace pipe’ are both accepted.”

True to a comment Al had made during his first encounter with the Visitor, two chairs had been brought into Waiting Room.  Seeing the chairs had been placed near the hospital bed that was one of the only two permanent pieces of furniture in the Waiting Room, the other being the mirror-top table, Al started toward them.

“Oh, here,” Howie said, scrambling off the bed and reaching the chairs in a couple of strides. “Let me get them, s--” he began then hesitated. The easy grin appeared once more at the look of mock annoyance (coupled with just the suggestion of a smile that was making Al’s lips twitch minutely) that came over the older man’s face at the near slip. “…Al,” Howie finished as he grabbed the chairs, picked them up and carried them to the table.  The laughter that seemed to be as much a part of Howie as his faith rang out again when Al said, “And if you’re even thinking of holding that chair for me, I may take all these goodies and leave again!”

The Visitor’s eyes danced merrily as he lifted both hands in a show of mock surrender.  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Al,” Howie grinned, mirroring the Observer’s moves so that they both sat down at the same time.  His stomach chose that moment to rumble, and he added, “Besides, my stomach would never forgive me.”

Two new firsts then occurred in the Waiting Room. One was Al sitting down with the Visitor to the impromptu meal, and second was when Howie bowed his head and asked a simple blessing over the food.  After that Howie wasted no time in reaching for one of the containers of nachos.

“I could eat nachos every day of the week,” he declared as he selected a chip then paused, glancing at the two small but generous containers of salsa.  “What are these… hot and mild?”

Now a grin spread across Al’s face as he selected a hamburger from one of the go-boxes and laid it on a napkin in front of himself on the table.  Licking a smudge of mustard from one of his fingers, the Observer said, his dark eyes sparkling, “One of them is what you’d call hot.  The other,” he paused, grinning wider. “Just take a word of advice… don’t let the mild aroma fool you into taking too big a bite of it.”

“What’s in it?” Howie asked with good-natured suspicion, dipping a corner of the chip in the salsa under discussion then lifting it to his nose and sniffing lightly.

Grinning as he picked up his hamburger and prepared to take a bite, Al paused and quipped,  “Just a little fire and brimstone.” His eyes twinkled as he watched Howie, recalling in that moment the last time he had overindulged in the eye-watering salsa made with just a small touch of habenero chilies, and then later that night had paid for that indulgence. 

Taking a bite of his hamburger, he chewed, watching with amusement as Howie gingerly bit just the tip of the chip with the salsa on it.  He chuckled lightly down in his chest at Howie’s wide-eyed reaction as he grabbed one of the chilled drinks, popped it open and took a quick gulp.

Swallowing the bite of food, Al grinned as Howie carefully lifted the container of the fiery salsa and pushed it far enough away so he didn’t accidentally dip into it again by mistake. “Too hot?” Al quipped lightly then took another bite of his hamburger then opened his own drink.

Popping a chip loaded with the milder salsa into his mouth, Howie took the ribbing in stride, saying, “Don’t get me wrong, Al. I love hot salsa, but that stuff… that stuff is ridiculous!”

For a while the two men just ate and drank and chatted about inconsequential things with an ease that would have made anyone looking into the room think that they were close friends of longstanding.

“So what are you studying in school?” Al asked, just to make conversation. His foray into what Ziggy had uncovered upon Howie’s first mention of his name had already informed him.

“Drama. I’m minoring in Communications, though. I figure if my big dreams don’t pan out, I can always fall back on doing PR or something,” he rolled his eyes, showing his hope that he wouldn’t have to ‘fall back’ on his minor.

When Howie didn’t elaborate, focusing instead on the hot dog he’d begun devouring, Al prompted, “What are your big dreams?”

“Mmm,” Howie gulped down the mouthful of wiener and bun and swigged cola. “Well, I want to try my hand at stand-up, see how that goes. And then, maybe, a film or two would be great, or a series.” He shrugged and grinned. “I don’t have to follow in Robin Williams’ footsteps, but I sure wouldn’t mind. Heck, even reaching Jeff Foxworthy’s status would be fine by me!”

“Stand-up, huh?” Al said. He nibbled a fry thoughtfully. “Well, try out some of your material on me, then.”

“Oh.” Howie sat up in his chair. He polished off the dog and brushed his fingers clean on a napkin before settling back in the chair and regarding Al with an insouciant grin. “I guess I’ll go for the spiel I used at the Campus Crusade banquet last Spring.” He closed his eyes, as if drawing forth the script and opened them to look at Al impishly. “If it’s not that good, you’ll have to forgive the holes in my memory.”

Al snorted and shook his head, swirling a nacho chip in the “fire and brimstone” salsa—advising himself he’d just have the one.

“It’s a different world on the dating scene for us Christians,” Howie began. “For one thing, your pick-up lines are different. You can’t exactly walk up to some girl after Sunday School and say, ‘Hey baby, breakfast, your place or mine?’ Nah, you’ve gotta get a bit more creative… get a bit more spiritual about it.” He affected a suave expression and jiggled his eyebrows meaningfully as he said, “Hey… how’s about me and you read a little Song of Solomon?”

He paused expectantly and flicked his eyes toward Al when the expected laughter didn’t come. Al leaned forward. “Was that the joke?”

Howie lowered his head and shoved a few fries in his mouth. “Uh, yeah. Cracked ‘em up at the banquet.” He looked back at Al and shrugged sheepishly. “Guess my material’s not ready for a widespread audience. You, uh, you aren’t familiar with Song of Solomon are you?”

“Not really, no,” Al admitted.

Howie smirked. “It’s the Bible’s book about sex.”

“It’s what?” Al choked on his cola. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” Howie said, earnestly. He got up and crossed to the bed and lifted the Bible, flipping past Psalms and Proverbs to the small book and passing the Bible to Al.

Al skimmed a few pages and let out a low whistle. “What have I been missing?” he smirked. “Never read many of the tiny books,” Al said as he returned the loaned Bible to Howie.

“Oh, some of the best stuff is in the tiny books,” Howie said, moving to rest the Bible on the foot of the bed again. “James—only 5 chapters, but man, oh man, talk about giving you some words to live by! ‘Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like,’”⁶ quoted Howie, standing over the table and looking down as he sat back down.

Because they’d shifted the boxes around, Howie had a clear shot of the glass… and of the strange face looking back at him.

Howie's quote struck Al as an odd but very apt analogy of what the Swiss-cheese effect was for Sam.  Every time his friend finished a leap but before he began the next leap, it was like he forgot what his reflection looked like.  He pondered it a moment longer then set that notion aside for pondering some other time.  He also didn't miss the way Howie was gazing down at the tabletop. To the Visitor's obvious question, "That's Sam?" Al stood up and walked around to stand beside Howie and look down at the reflection.  It was odd but in a way, as he gazed down at his own reflection beside Sam's reflection, it made him feel closer to his friend.

"Yeah, that's Sam," he affirmed. As he studied his friend's reflection, he added, "He's been through a lot."

Howie heard the touch of emotion in Al's voice, just the quality of it bringing back the moment when the older man had practically fled this room not that long ago. 

"He's not alone, Al," Howie told him softly, still gazing at the tabletop.

"You got that right," Al said. "I've been there for him ever since... all this started."

"I don't doubt that," Howie responded, "but that wasn't what I meant."  He looked at the reflection of the two old friends and then raised his head to look at his new friend standing beside him.  Al lifted his head and looked directly into Howie's eyes.  "You know how I told you I wasn't scared because I knew God was with me?  Well, He's with Sam, too.  I mean, He has to be.  Why else would Sam be doing this?  Why would he be in my life at this time?"  Howie took a deep breath.  "I have to believe that there's a Plan involved."

Al wasn't surprised by the direction the conversation was turning, especially not after the last time.  He wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with it, but he vowed he would stick it out this time.

"You've got a lot of faith," he observed.  "I wish Sam could feel as sure that he's not alone right now as you do."

Howie opened his mouth then closed it again, thinking a moment.  "Don't put me on a pedestal, not even one made of faith, Al," he said softly.  "For as strong as my faith is, I stumble more often than you might think."  Glancing at Al he said, "I'm just me, Al. Howie Lockwood, class clown, stand-up wanna be, complete with problems and whatever else came with me into this life."  He shrugged lightly. "The only real difference in my faith from yours or Sam's... or Russ'... is how far I've come in my relationship with God."  Looking back down at the table at the reflection of the man now walking in his life, he added, "Sometimes we all just need reminding."

"That's interesting that you mentioned Russ," Al observed.  "I really think that's the reason Sam ended up in your life... to help Russ.  The thing I don't get is... how?  What does Russ need help with?"

Howie twisted his mouth and started to sit down again.  Al took the cue and crossed back to his own chair.  The Visitor leaned forward with his elbows earnestly angled against the table's edge.

"Russ is searching for something.  What, I couldn't tell you.  I don't *think* he's ever told me--'course I'm not sure I'd necessarily remember if he did.  But I do know he watches me like a hawk."

"Which leads me to question the wisdom of the Plan in having Sam take your place.  I mean, Howie, you've got to understand that Sam is a man of science.  He's not exactly a churchgoer."  Al stopped and sighed.  Obviously, Howie hadn't been able to impact Russ the first time around.  "What I mean is... if Russ is searching for something, and I guess it's fair to say he's searching for something in terms of his faith, right?"