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 II:

Sam’s efforts to get close to Russ were hampered by touring, shopping, and a prayer circle he felt out of place in.  These unintentional interferences left an opening for Sam’s doubts and a taunting voice to torment him in the night.  Meanwhile, Al was discovering a depth about the young Visitor in the Waiting Room that both surprised and touched him.  As Al later spoke with Sam about his mission, concern and focus temporarily allowed fond memories to come forth of a Calavicci family vacation some 20 years ago.  Sam himself was further surprised by the concern shared by Howie and his friends for each other, though Russ continued to be something of an enigma.

PART ONE

En route to the Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

8:30 AM

The group boarded the monorail that stopped inside the Contemporary Resort, filling half of the car.  The girls sat on the blue vinyl bench while Sam and the other two boys leaned against the blue divider and gripped the handrails.  A warning played first in English, then repeated in Spanish, and they were off.  The monorail paused to pick up passengers at the Polynesian Resort and then again at the Grand Floridian Resort.  Each time, Sam was struck by the theming and attention to detail.  Where the Contemporary had been bold colors, clean lines, and futuristic design, the Polynesian was dark wood and lush, verdant tropical greenery.  The girls ooh'ed and ahh'ed over the Grand Floridian, its white Victorian architecture and red gabled rooftops creating a glorious vision.  Even Sam felt his breath taken away.  Finally, the monorail stopped at the Magic Kingdom and they emerged onto a platform of green wrought-iron railings, and then followed a ramp down to a bricked surface, each hexagonal brick bearing an engraving commemorating families, visits, friends, special occasions, and more.

They made their way across the bricked surface, Sam looking out across the Seven Seas Lagoon at the three resorts ringing its shores.  To his right, a boat launch proclaimed its travels to and from the Grand Floridian, the Wilderness Lodge, and Fort Wilderness.  One was just docking, bearing a load of passengers from one of those resorts.

They turned away from it and passed through the turnstiles, presenting their tickets for admission and being summarily counted for the daily attendance records.  Directly in front was an old-fashioned train station.  Its platform was elevated, and beneath it was landscaped art, flowers arranged to form the famous face of Mickey Mouse.  Crowds had already gathered in front of the ropes stretched to the far right and left of the expanse, so Sam and his troupe filled in towards the right. 

As they waited and chatted, music suddenly filled the air and dancers clothed in turn-of-the-century attire appeared on the platform, singing and twirling as they sang, "Good Mornin'!  Good Mornin'!"  Shortly afterwards, a plump elderly gentleman came out and introduced himself as the Mayor of Main Street, U.S.A.  He gave a brief speech welcoming them all to this happy place, and announced that very shortly a special event would take place, as one family had been chosen to open the Magic Kingdom.  His speech finished, the dancers once again took over, broad smiles spreading across their faces.  Sam thought the smiles looked incredibly genuine.

It wasn't long before the tooting of an approaching steam train sounded to the right, and the old-fashioned iron horse came down the tracks, pulling up to the station and coming to a stop.  As each car passed by, Sam was able to see characters were riding aboard it.  Mickey and Minnie Mouse.  Donald Duck, Daisy Duck.  Goofy.  The large costumed masks seemed to have expression as the skilled Cast Members pantomimed.  Sam was surprised to see several characters who were mask-less, their faces made up to match their character instead.  Peter Pan and Wendy stepped onto the platform and grinned and waved.  Peter Pan pointed to a small girl and blew a kiss to her as he shouted, “Hello!” and proceeded to crow like a rooster.

Not long afterward, the selected family--from North Dakota--was introduced by the mayor and made its way to the center of the platform.  On the count of three, they released streamers and confetti--pixie dust to start a magical day.

The Cast Members dropped the ropes, and the crowd surged forward.

Sam had opted to keep his reactions low-key, preferring to study his companions as much as he could without looking like he was oblivious to the festive air of excitement being generated by, as far as he could tell, every person crowded around the grandstand.  His roommate, Skip, was as excited as any of the younger kids around him. Sam couldn't help but grin at the sight of the college age young man wearing his Mickey ears and oblivious to everything but enjoying himself.

Ginger and Karen were about the same, though Ginger kept swiping the Goofy ball cap that Sam had been 'condemned' to wear for not going 'hands free' the day before, and slapping it on his head every chance she got.  She had just pulled it down on Sam's head for the third time, and Sam was reaching to pull it off again for the third time, when all of a sudden he was swept away with the throng of people around him now surging through the gates like a high tide retreating toward the ocean.

"Howie, dude," Skip laughed aloud when he saw his friend struggling to get the cap from over his eyes and trying to stay on his feet in the rush.  Grabbing his friend's arm, Skip used his solid size to steer Howie to the edge of the crowd until they could step off onto the grass to their left.  Grinning, he reached up and grabbed the bill of the hat and pulled the hat off.

Sam grabbed the hat and started to shove it in his back pocket again.

Skip grinned. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he suggested.

"Why not?" Sam demanded, glaring down at the inoffensive hat.

"Because Ginger's headed this way."

Sam scanned the still fast flowing crowd swarming into the park, spying the tall, thin redhead wearing a yellow Daisy Duck tee-shirt with matching shorts, and her gaze fixed on him.

Hastily Sam wadded the cap, as well as he could, and stuffed it in his right front pants pocket just as Ginger reached them.

"Where's your hat, Howie?" she teased.

Sam gave her a narrow look. "Where you can't get it," he answered.

"Oh?" she archly inquired, her eyebrows raising as she scanned the area.  Her eyes tracked from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, pausing at his pocket, where a traitorous black ear flopped out of the suspicious wad.

Juanita had come up to see what was keeping everyone and followed Ginger's gaze.  "Is that a rabbit in your pocket..." she began quoting from Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

"Fine!  Enough!" Sam scowled and seized the hat, straightening Goofy's now crooked nose as best he could before jamming it onto his own head.  "Happy?" he asked, somewhat surly.

What happened next was so bizarre Sam began to wonder if it had been scripted somehow.  From the firehouse to the left of the small grassy plot in the center of the beginning of Main Street, a troupe of characters processed out.  Making a beeline for Sam was none other than the dwarf, Happy.

Sam didn't have anything against Happy. As a kid, he'd loved reading the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. And the one time, on that summer long family vacation when he was twelve, the Beckett family had spent one day extra in California just to visit Disneyland. From what he could snag of that childhood memory from out of his now ever Swiss-cheesed memory, he and Katie had played and danced with the dwarfs when they had come upon them.  But that was a long time past....

"Ooof!" he huffed when Happy, in his exuberance, grabbed him and hugged him then danced him around a few steps before releasing him and moving on to Juanita and the others in turn.

"And this is just the first five minutes," Sam muttered under his breath. He took care to keep moving in sync with the people in front of him, unabashedly ducking and hiding behind them until at last the friendly dwarf had skipped off in search of others to welcome to his home.

Happy-less now, the group tried to pick back up into the flow of the crowd.  The runners were now long gone and the remaining crowd was exploring the quaint architecture of Main Street with leisure.  Russ groaned.

"Man, the line must be 20 minutes long by now."

"More than that," Juanita estimated.  "We were playing with Happy for a few minutes."

"Well," Karen reasoned, "Space Mountain's the only major draw in Tomorrowland, but the crowds in Frontierland should be split between the two mountains, don'tcha think?  Why don't we head there and see which line is shorter, Splash Mountain or Big Thunder Mountain?"

"Sounds good to me," Sam said.  Actually, it all sounded *Greek* to him.  But, since he was technically the tour guide--since he was to all intents and purposes the Disney-savvy Howie--he figured anything that made his job easier was fine by him.

The group purposefully strode down Main Street, neglecting the details that Imagineers had spent years designing in lieu of the pursuit of their ultimate goal of early-morning thrills.  They made it to the hub in short order and paused.  Even their rush couldn’t stop them from taking in the beauty of Cinderella Castle, even decorated as a giant cake, its elegant spires reached toward the heavens.  In the foreground, centered in the hub, a bronze statue of Walt Disney and Mickey Mouse greeted visitors.  As they admired the scenery, Sam searched his photographic memory for the vision of the maps he'd studied the previous night and pointed to the left.

"Fewer people are cutting through Adventureland.  It wraps right around into Frontierland.  We'll come out right beside Splash Mountain and have a straight on view of Big Thunder."  He was agog at himself at how smoothly the names rolled off his tongue and how confident he sounded.  He just hoped he wouldn't be called upon to judge which ride would have the shorter wait.

The leaper was more than willing to let the three girls decide where the group was going, and followed without argument along behind them.  He just waved to them when Karen called back, "Hurry up or you'll be at the end of the line by the time you get there."

"You go on ahead and save me a spot in line," he called back. Again it seemed that somebody was on his side as Karen just rolled her eyes at him then hurried to catch up with Juanita and Ginger.  He paused for a moment and just stared after them, wondering.

"Why me?" he said softly under his breath. "And why here?" That thought, however, faded when a deep voice spoke beside him.

"Because this is where the Nights of Joy are. Or did your little two-step with Happy wipe your memory banks clean of that?" Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. filled in as he caught up with Sam.

"Huh? Oh… oh, yeah," Sam covered hastily, offering a sheepish grin at the only one of the group that he hadn't yet had a chance to talk with since the leap in. He reached a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck then started walking again.  "Happy was...enthused."

Russ grinned as he fell into step with Sam. "He was... but you seemed a trifle lacking in that attitude."  He glanced at his companion, noting that Howie seemed a little quieter than was usual for the clown of the group.  "You okay, Howie?" he asked. In a lightly teasing voice, he 'threatened', "Maybe I should go find Happy to cheer you up..." He started to turn back the way they had come.

Sam knew Russ was just joking, but he quickly grasped the other's arm and firmly said, "No.  That's quite all right."  He broke into a grin then and added, "Anything but that."

Russ smiled back and gestured at Splash Mountain, which the girls had selected as the "lesser" wait.  "They think that's the shorter line?" he chuckled.  "That queue weaves around outside before weaving around *inside*."

"Oh boy," Sam said.

Skip jogged back to the opening of the line and shouted, "Come on, you two slowpokes!  If this line moves too much further we won't be able to let you back in!"

Russ and Sam looked at each other then turned back to Skip.

"You know what?  I'm really not in the mood to start my day getting drenched," Russ said.  He gestured at a carved sign of a dripping wet Brer Rabbit which proclaimed in blue-and-white water-inspired lettering, "You may get wet."  He waved dismissingly at Skip.  "I'm gonna pass on this one!" he called out.

Sam saw a golden opportunity--a chance to talk to Russ, see if he could figure out what Al had been alluding to last night.  Maybe get a hint of what had compelled Skip to join him on the balcony and pray for the young man.  He also had the chance to get out of a ride whose final drop was more than intimidating.

"I'm gonna keep Russ company!" Sam hollered.

"You guys sure are brave!" Skip shouted back.  "Don't be surprised if those gals cook up a punishment worse than a Goofy hat!"  He disappeared back into the queue.

Russ glanced at Sam. "They’re gonna out-do me?  What punishment could possibly be worse than a Goofy hat?"

As if of their own accord, Sam's eyes rolled up to look at the underside of the bill of that very same 'punishment' hat on his head then met Russ' amused gaze. He shivered slightly. "I'd rather not think about such things this early in the morning," he said.  "Besides," he added, glancing around. "If they can't find us, they can't punish us."

"I like how you think, man," Russ laughed.  "What's say we find some coffee and a shady place to drink it...out of sight, of course."

"Lead the way," Sam said.

Without drawing attention to the fact, Sam allowed Russ to decide which direction to go in search of coffee, and within a few minutes found himself in Liberty Square. They opted against going into one of the small cafes, instead going into the Columbia Harbor House. Though already bustling with other tourists in search of coffee or other refreshments, it only took them about five minutes to get their coffee and escape outside again.

Coffee wasn't Sam's preferred drink but in a pinch, anything would do. Pausing to take a sip of the steaming brew, he was more than a little surprised at how good the coffee was. 

Looking to Russ, Sam noticed how Russ, coffee cup still held near his lips, was staring at the bustling crowd of people around him. But for all of the laughter and enthusiasm that seemed to permeate the very air around them, Sam couldn't miss the lost, almost hungry expression in his companion's eyes.

"Russ?" he called the man's name quietly so as not to startle him. He waited a moment and when Russ didn't respond, Sam said, "Penny for your thoughts?"  There was no rhyme or reason why that should have caught the other man's attention, but it had and Sam had learned after years of leaping to not let even the smallest opportunity to slip away without at least trying to grab it.  "You okay?”

Russ abruptly turned to face him, "Fine."  He smiled to take the edge off the sharp response.  "Why do you ask?"

"You seemed like you were a million miles away," answered Sam.

Russ took a sip of coffee to delay answering.  "I was thinking about the concerts tonight.  What are they going to be like?"

Howie's response as relayed to him by Al the previous evening came to his mind, and Sam dutifully repeated it, having no more idea than Russ what to expect.  "It's joy that just soaks into a person's soul and fills a lot of empty spaces with something only God can give."

"Hmmm," Russ said noncommittally.

Sam took a sip of his own coffee, not really tasting it as he watched the young man over the rim of his cup.  "You don't sound too excited about all that joy and good music," he said softly.

Sam's words caught Russ unaware and he swung his head around to give him a briefly considering look.  It would have been easy to snap at his friend and the one he considered his spiritual older brother, but Russ couldn't let Howie see what a failure he was in his young walk of faith. Instead he let a slow smile cross his face.  "What are you?  Some secret agent PR man for Steven Curtis Chapman or something?"  Seeing Howie grin sheepishly, he was grateful that the small moment of panic at being caught in weakness had been averted.

Sam didn't know how to respond to Russ at first, opting to give a sheepish grin.  He'd hoped that Russ would open up given the chance, but perhaps that had been too much to hope for after all.  Having been given an out by Russ' joke, Sam decided that perhaps his best option as Howie was to play along, so he reached into his back pocket for the wallet, pulling it out and flipping it open and shut rapidly as if displaying a badge, spouting off, "Yes, indeed!  And you're not buying it, so I'll have to report to my superiors."

Russ laughed heartily and gestured toward the back end of Liberty Square.  "What say we ride the Haunted Mansion?  Those goofballs will be forever on Splash Mountain."

"What about the coffee?" asked Sam.

"Eh, by the time we get over there, we should be finished," Russ said, lifting the small red cup emblazoned with a series of small Mickey head icons.

Sam had to concede he was right, but he was frustrated by the lack of opportunity to talk with Russ.  He could tell from their location that the line was short at the Haunted Mansion, they'd probably be able to walk directly inside the English Tudor-styled building.  Still, he agreed, and they slowly walked and sipped their way towards it.

They'd just drawn near to the entranceway to the queue when Al popped in next to Sam, making him jump.  Had it not been for the safety lid on the cup, he'd have spilled coffee on his hand.

"Al!" he exclaimed, despite himself.

"Al?" Russ asked, glancing over at his friend.  Seeing the scowl on Howie's face and the way his lips were pressed together as he glared at a patch of empty air, he grinned.  "Okay," he said as he turned to face Sam, "I'm not that good at charades this early in the morning, but I'll give it a crack?"  Sidestepping a bit to allow a couple of girls to enter the wrought-iron gates leading to the Haunted Mansion ahead of them, he said, "Okay, I'm ready."

Sam hated moments like these; wanting to rant at Al for startling him yet again, but unable to do so without appearing to have lost his senses. Even though it was clear that the Observer's thoughts were not on anything comical, the Leaper still wanted to yell... but swallowed it, as he had so many times before.

Brushing a hand over his eyes, Sam laughed slightly then said, "Just practicing a scene I saw in a movie. You know..." his gaze flicked to the Observer then back to Russ.  "Trying to emote frustration without saying anything... or much of anything. So... how did I do?"

"Uh....really good, Howie," Russ said skeptically.  He finished his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can, decorated to blend into the colonial architecture of Liberty Square.  "So, foolish mortal, are you ready for the Haunted Mansion?"

"Sam...we need to talk," said Al, his dark eyes serious.

Sam downed his own coffee, tossed his cup into the can and said, "Uh, just a second, Russ.  That coffee went right through me.  I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

"Okay," said Russ.  He pointed to a bench outside a shop selling Christmas ornaments.  "I'll just wait right there."

Sam nodded and headed for the men's room.  Al groaned as he watched the Leaper walk off.  "Sam, if you think we're gonna find privacy in the men's room HERE, we need to get your head examined."

He waited until Sam entered the room, and then pressed a button on the handlink to pop in after him.  Sam had been checking the surprisingly nearly empty men's room for occupants, but Al's sudden arrival got a loud reaction from a little boy who had been washing his hands.  The child screamed and ran outside, soap dripping from his small fingers.

"What was that about?" Sam started to ask.  "Kids don't usually react THAT intensely to seeing you."

"I'll go check on him," said Al.  He pressed a button on the handlink and popped outside again.

The child had buried his face in his mother's legs, screaming and crying, as she assured him there weren't any ghosts in the bathroom.  She pivoted him in her arms to face the entrance to the restroom.  As soon as the boy caught sight of Al, he screamed again.

"I told you, Momma!  I told you!!!  It's the Hitchhiking Ghost!!  They said it would follow us home and there it is!!" the child started sobbing hysterically.

Al started to try and calm the child down, but he wasn't able to get a word out as the mother suddenly hefted the boy into her arms, saying, "That's it...we're going back to the room.  And no more Mickey bars for breakfast for YOU, young man.  It's much too early for this nonsense."

Al felt bad about having startled the little boy, and even started to step forward, a gentle smile on his face.  But all that resulted in was another sobbing squeal from the child, who then buried his face in the side of his mother's neck.  Al watched a moment longer then relocated himself inside the bathroom again. He found Sam leaning patiently against one of the sinks, his arms folded over his chest.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

Al shook his head lightly, saying, "The kid must've been on the Haunted Mansion ride.  He thought I was a Hitchhiking Ghost."

"A what?" 

Al flicked a hand noncommittally. "Never mind about the kid. He's okay, his Mom's got him.  I came to tell you that Ziggy has come up with some information..."

Sam almost jumped at the hologram, a sense of relief starting inside him. At last, something to give him direction.  "What's wrong with Russ?" he demanded. "What did she find out?"

Al took a deep breath then said, "We still don't know what's eating at Russ, but it turns out he did find a solution for it."

"Al...what?" the leaper demanded.  The feeling of intense gratitude for even a little 'something' to go on crumbled when he looked into his friend's dark eyes as Al said, "What Ziggy found was an entry in the...death records in the State of Florida...."

Sam felt like someone had started to suck the air from the room. "Death...."

The Observer nodded then figured that the momentary lull of quiet in one of the always busy restrooms was due to be interrupted any time, and pressed on.  "Yeah," he said, pressing another button to re-scroll the information so he had it right. "There's an entry for one Russell James Lovet-Hurston, Jr.," he lifted his eyes to his friend again. "Age 22. Date of death... September 12, 1997… in Orlando, Florida at Walt Disney World."  He glanced down at the handlink, his gaze fixing on the cause of death and not wanting to tell Sam, but that wasn't an option.

Sam could see it in the Observer's face and verbally nudged him. "Finish it, Al," he said quietly.  Sadness, along with a vague, nasty whisper of **failure!** flitted through his mind as he heard Al say somberly, "Cause of death was listed as...suicide."

PART TWO

Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

9:30 AM

Sam felt like he might as well have been on the Tower of Terror again, so sharply had the world dropped from beneath him at Al's words.  He'd given the Observer a look, his eyes speaking volumes, and Al, in return, had given him a soft expression, assuring him that Dom would persist in cracking the Disney security firewalls so that they could determine exactly what had happened.

Once Al disappeared, Sam took a couple brief moments to compose himself, before rejoining Russ at the bench.

"Boy, you were serious," said Russ.  "You gonna be okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine now," Sam said.  He nodded toward the Haunted Mansion queue.  "You still up for it?"

"999 Happy Haunts....but there's always room for one more," quipped Russ, unintentionally sending a chill down Sam's spine.

Getting to his feet, Russ, now looking for all the world like any of the other hundreds of laughing, happy park visitors, led the way back to the Haunted Mansion.  Luck seemed to have been on his and Sam's side, as they were able to walk right inside to a wood-paneled room.  Sam, keeping his gaze fixed more or less on Russ, almost jumped out of his skin when a deep sonorous voice almost at his elbow intoned, "Drag your wretched bodies to the DEAD center of the room, please."

Seeing the way Howie jumped when the Cast Member had unexpectedly sneaked up on his friend was funny, but what made Russ guffaw was the way Howie yelped, his eyes as big as silver dollars as he whirled to face the Cast Member.  The somber-faced young man, clad as a butler in dark green funereal attire, didn’t blink or grin, though merriment was visible in his eyes.  Russ continued to chuckle like a fiend as they followed a family ahead of them into the center of the room.  As the voice of the unseen Ghost Host intoned, "Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion," Russ leaned close to Sam and whispered, "For sure, if you don't ever get into the movies, you'll make it big with voiceovers.  You scream as good as any girl I've ever heard."

"Oh shut up," Sam muttered.

He surveyed the room, the wood paneling giving way to yellow and blue striped wallpaper, on which were displayed paintings of what the Ghost Host proceeded to describe as “some of our guests, as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.”  The paintings, illuminated by the flickering candlesticks clutched by leering gargoyles positioned around the octagonal room, gradually began to rise and lengthen in their frames, displaying the manner in which the subjects ostensibly met their doom—an unraveling tightrope on which an erstwhile aerialist balanced over a crocodile pit; a man standing on a barrel of dynamite; a teetering pyramid of men sinking in a pit of quicksand; and an old woman perched on a tombstone.

As the Ghost Host continued to speak, Sam returned his attention to Russ.  The young man showed no signs of apprehension at all, apparently still experiencing the glee of Sam’s shrieks.  Other guests, though, appeared to reflect the Ghost Host’s commentary, “Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Is this Haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination, hmm?? And consider this dismaying observation—this chamber has no windows, and no doors!  Which offers you this chilling challenge…to find A WAY OUT!”  Reflexively, Sam glanced around the room as the Ghost Host cackled, realizing the truth of the statement.  Before he could even begin to set his mind to the challenge, the narration continued, “Of course, there’s always MY WAY!” 

The lights went out to the accompaniment of a lightning flash which illuminated the ceiling above them, rendering it translucent.  As one, the guests looked upwards to see a rotting corpse hanging from a noose in the attic.  As soon as the lights came back on and a panel slid open to allow them to exit the room and enter the loading area, Sam stared at Russ, Al’s revelation that the young man would commit suicide some time before the day was over ringing in his ears. 

They made their way through the winding queue, not speaking. While Russ absorbed the meticulous attention to detail that had been afforded even this unassuming portion of the attraction, Sam didn’t take his eyes off the young man.  He, therefore, almost stumbled onto the moving platform after Russ indicated they were a party of two to the attending Cast Member, and practically fell into the approaching Doom Buggy.  He automatically extended a hand toward the safety bar, halting as the voice of the Ghost Host simultaneously instructed, “Do not pull down on the safety bar please, I will lower it for you. Heed this warning, the spirits will materialize ONLY if you remain quietly seated at all times. Oh yes, and no flash pictures please, we spirits are frightfully sensitive to bright lights.”  A moment later, the front of the conveyance that had been open to allow them entrance now tilted forward to contain them.

"This just keeps getting better and better," he said, trying to keep his tone light as he wiggled into a more comfortable position.

"Howie," Russ grinned at his companion as the Doom Buggy continued its forward progress. "If your luck gets any better, they'll have to change the '999' to '1,000 plus' by the end of the ride." Russ wouldn't have laughed long if he could have heard what was running through Sam Beckett's mind even as he mentally crossed his fingers against the laughing suggestion: *Don't give anybody any ideas...and don't you listen to yourself either.*

Sam barely noticed the ingenious effects rendered by the Imagineers as their Doom Buggy made its way through the library and hallway, but even his pre-occupied mind couldn't stay distracted when they went into the séance room where the disembodied head of Madame Leota called out to the spirits from the sanctity of a crystal ball.  The next room, in which the Doom Buggies simultaneously swiveled to face out over a vast dining room and ballroom captivated Sam, as he watched ghosts appearing and reappearing.  Some celebrated as a ghost appeared to blow out the candles on a cake, disappearing just as quickly.  Further down, ghosts whirled and twirled both on and above the ballroom floor, while slightly above eye level, two ghosts emerged from their portraits to re-enact a duel.  As they passed from this scene into an attic where an eerie bride stood watch, the Doom Buggies swiveled again and tilted backwards to descend to the next level.

Unable to see much beyond the black back of the Doom Buggy now in front of theirs, though able to determine the intent was to simulate outdoor travel, Sam gasped when something bright suddenly appeared in his line of vision.  Rectangular in shape, Sam gradually realized that it was an official document.  He squinted, and three lines of type suddenly became more pronounced.  The first was the proclamation that the document was a death certificate.  The second was Russ' name.  But the third, and most chilling, was the cause of death....Sam Beckett.

"No," Sam whispered.

"What?" Russ said, turning to him, but they'd reached the bottom and had now entered the graveyard scene of the Haunted Mansion, and his attention was drawn to the animatronic of the caretaker, his skeletally thin dog cowering and whimpering at his side.  They rounded the corner into the graveyard, where a "swinging wake" was taking place, to the accompaniment of the catchy tune "Grim Grinning Ghosts."

While the graveyard scene contained many humorous elements, Sam was unable to enjoy any of them, after the ominous vision he'd been privy to on the descent.  Still, the song was catchy, and gradually Sam released the tension enough to listen as the Ghost Host suddenly returned to the speakers in their Doom Buggy.

As they rounded the corner to leave the cemetery and enter a carriageway, they were faced with the image of three different ghosts, their thumbs cocked and waving as they clutched bags in the other hand.  The accompanying narration declared, “Aaahh, there you are! And just in time, there’s a little matter I forgot to mention, BEWARE OF HITCHHIKING GHOSTS!!”

Despite his concern for preventing Russ' suicide and the fear of failure, Sam couldn't help but snort, now understanding Al's earlier encounter with the small boy.  He grinned along with Russ as the Doom Buggy now swiveled to face a wall of mirrors, and in between them, the reflection displayed a gaunt bearded man.  Different ghosts were visible in the Doom Buggies traveling alongside theirs.

Sam's amusement quickly vanished as they passed under the last Imagineering triumph, a female ghost who said in a haunting voice, "Hurry baaaack, hurry baaaack....be sure and bring your DEATH certificate."

Sam was so stunned by the correlation between her words and his vision that he almost didn't get out of the still-moving Doom Buggy in time, and nearly tripped on the moving floor that awaited them.

"You nearly went back through the ride again," Russ said, as he reached a hand to steady Sam.

Righting himself with the aid of Russ' hand in getting off the moving floor, Sam spared a glance back at the disappearing Doom Buggy, saying, "No thanks. One trip..."

"Or in your case... two trips," Russ couldn't help adding, remembering his friend's ungraceful entry into the Doom Buggy they had occupied.

Sam ignored Russ' comment as he finished his thought. "One trip through that 'Spooks' Hall of Fame', is more than enough for me."

Once outside again in the bright sunshine, Sam breathed a sigh of relief, but in spite of the sunshine and, even more, Russ' apparently upbeat attitude, he couldn't shake or dismiss or ignore the image of the death certificate he'd glimpsed on the back of that Doom Buggy.  "No," he whispered under his breath, not realizing that the vehemence of his determination to make that ghostly apparition or whatever it had been, a total lie, had come through clearly in that one word.

"Okay, okay," Russ said, misunderstanding Sam's comment, "we won't do it again!  Keep your shirt on."  He glanced at his watch, "Besides, we probably need to head back to Frontierland to meet up with the rest of the gang.  Hey, if we time it right, we may be able to see them go down the drop, if they haven't already.  Let's go to the bridge and watch."

"All right," Sam conceded, trying to inject good spirits into his voice. 

"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Howie?  That coffee's not acting up on you again, is it?"

"No, I'm fine," Sam said, regretting his excuse and starting to agree with Al about the downside of chatting in restrooms.

The walk to Frontierland seemed more like a salmon trying to go upstream to Sam, but in spite of the little whisper that kept trying to distract him, he kept sweeping it aside until it gave up and left him alone.

At the bridge, he and Russ found a space between a couple of families, joining them as they watched the flume from which was pouring what looked like a small waterfall, waiting for the next log to appear, which they did, in intervals of approximately twenty to thirty seconds. It wasn't more than two minutes before a little girl nearby squealed, "There's Kasey and Mom!"

Russ' eyes scanned the occupants of the log then he threw his head back and laughed. "Juanita and Karen are in the front! Where's Skip..."

"Third row," Sam filled in as he quickly picked out the football player with a Mickey Mouse heart and yen for fun in the split second before the log picked up speed and plunged down the hill.

Sam's and Russ' laughter blended with that of the other spectators, both watching avidly as the girls were thoroughly soaked as the log hit the water. As the log slowly moved along to return inside, Russ observed, "I can't imagine how Skip talked Juanita into the front seat. She hates heights."

Yet again it seemed that he had been presented with another opportunity to, he hoped get Russ to talk.  "What about you?" Sam asked as he joined Russ as they strolled down off the bridge. "You afraid of heights?"

The question prickled Russ and he almost hesitated then kept moving forward. "Nope," he said quietly, sparing a glance back at the flume of Splash Mountain.  "Heights don't scare me at all," he said, his tone now decidedly introspective.

Though Sam was tempted to respond, "They do me," he rethought it, since he didn't know whether or not Howie shared his fear.  Instead, he tried to move forward with Russ again.

"What does scare you?" he asked, easily, hoping his nonchalant tone would slip past Russ' guard.

Veering out of the way of a couple of soggy kids running toward the bridge he and Howie had just left, Russ kept his thoughts, those private thoughts, under a tight rein.  He knew Howie could be persistent, even in a good way but right now Russ didn't feel strong enough to deal with that persistence.

"Ohhh let's see," he said nonchalantly, careful not to look at his friend as they moved along. "Not making first team cut in two weeks. Ummm.... Dad cutting off my allowance..." For that he did send a waggish grin at his friend for a second before looking ahead again before turning the question back on Howie. "What scares you, Howie?"

"Well, to be honest, heights," Sam said, not sure why he'd admitted it. He walked a few more yards in silence before he added, "Not succeeding when I don't reach a goal I want."  He had moved several more feet along the way when he realized that Russ wasn't at his side anymore.  Stopping, Sam turned around to find Russ staring at him, his eyes... the look in them reminded him of a hurt animal warily watching as a person was trying to approach him to help.  For the leaper, however, he saw in Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr.'s eyes a vulnerability that, up to that moment, had never been revealed in those grey-blue eyes.

For a moment Sam gazed at Russ, uncertain if he should go to the other man or not. That thought was brushed aside; he couldn't not go to Russ' aid but he did so slowly.  As he moved, almost casually, closing the brief distance in three or four slow strides, he cast about in his mind for what to say.

"Some goals aren't meant to be reached...all by ourselves," he said. "Sometimes we need to let others help us."  When Sam was as close as he felt he should approach Russ, still close enough to reach out and touch him if that were to be needed, he added, "I had to learn that lesson over and over and over."

Russ' eyes were fixed on Howie's intent yet unthreatening gaze. He wanted to blink, to turn away and say something, anything that would break the spell and allow his pride to slam the door shut before his weakness got out. But he couldn't look away, couldn't stop listening.

Inside, Sam was almost afraid to say or do anything else for fear that Russ would just turn and take off into the crowd. But long years of leaping as well as commonsense told him that doing nothing was not an option, so he continued to ease closer one careful step at a time.

In spite of wanting to give into the pride telling him to brush off his friend's concern with the same casual attitude as he had done in the recent past, Russ couldn't make his feet move or his eyes stray from those compelling green eyes fixed on him.

Licking his lips lightly, Sam swallowed then, a soft but clear tone of concern coloring his words, said, "Whatever it is, Russ... let me help you."

Sam's words were like drops of cold water flicked on a sunburn, causing Russ to jerk, startled by the offer and even more by the sympathy underlying the words.  Taking a step back, then another, Russ managed to pull himself together, shoving down the emptiness and replacing it with the mask of relaxed confidence that had become the face he showed to the world.  Digging down, he summoned up a real smile and put it on for his too inquisitive friend and the world to see.

"Help me what?" he said lightly.  "There's nothing that I need help with."

Sam was about to press further when the intrepid (and drenched) Splash Mountain riders drew near.  Juanita was shoving Skip and shouting at him, "¡Usted muchacho loco! ¡Ésa era la cosa más asustadiza que he estado siempre encendido! ¿Por qué  yo le dejaron los individuos hablarme en estas cosas? ¡Soy quizá el loco!" 

Russ looked at Sam and grinned, "I don't think Juanita enjoyed the ride too much."

It took Sam a few seconds for his ability to speak Spanish and knowledge of that ability to click and he understood what Juanita had been shouting at the still clearly unrepentant Skip.  (“You crazy boy!  That was the scariest thing I've ever been on!  Why do I let you guys talk me into these things?  Maybe I'm the crazy one!”)  The young man was now ducking and dodging the dark-haired Juanita's attempts to do, as she shouted now in English, "Once I get my hands on you, Skip I'll wring the water from your clothes. And then I'm going to wring your neck!"  Sam couldn't help chuckling at the sight then, once peace had been restored, along with a stern warning in Spanish from Juanita, he turned back around just in time to see Russ arm in arm with a damp Karen and heading off toward another ride.

"Damn," Sam swore under his breath.

***Isn't that strike two, Sam?*** mocked the mean little whisper.

PART THREE

Fantasyland

Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997