|
PROLOGUE
During
his imprisonment inside the massive information system known
throughout the world as the Internet, while blocked from certain
things, Lothos had discovered the ridiculous ease of acquiring other
information in, of all places, chatrooms. It was by sheer good luck
in one particular chatroom, that one Patrick Cromwell had given him
nuggets of information that with only minor manipulation would,
without doubt, allow him to achieve the objective that came a hard
second to his primary goal – to rid the world of Dr. Samuel
Beckett. In addition to
learning of Patrick Cromwell’s affliction, he learned of the
conventions given to bond with the visitors who remembered Project
Quantum Leap.
Reviewing
over the information he had learned, Lothos couldn’t help but
‘smile’. In 1966,
Patrick Cromwell was a young man who claimed that he had experienced
memory losses in time that thoroughly mystified and frustrated him
to the point that it consumed all of his free time.
As the years went by, he utilized every new method of
research to discover the reason for his memory loss. It wasn’t
until 2005 that he found the answer when he’d received a
mysterious e-mail from one J. T. Beckett.
Patrick had attended the initial chatroom meeting and caught
the attention of J. T. Beckett.
While all of his questions didn’t receive completely
satisfying answers, it was enough for Patrick to put that brief
period of his life in perspective and move on.
Patrick
Cromwell’s unique situation had been discussed in rather animated
and detailed length by J. T. Beckett and Samantha Josephine Fuller.
That discussion had gone on for more than an hour after the
last chat participant had departed. Lothos had noted with great delight, the involved and
specific details they had shared.
He agreed with much of that conversation and had a new
admiration for the depth and breadth of J. T. Beckett’s reasoning
and explanation.
When
at last young Mr. Beckett and his associate had closed the chat,
Lothos had lingered, pondering all the information he had just
acquired. Whatever he was at that moment, he ‘smiled’.
“Thank you, Mr. Beckett,” he whispered and vanished into
the vastness of the Internet until he was found and set free at
Project Liberty by the unsuspecting fascination of a young girl for
puzzles. Paige Arlyss
never heard the whispering, “Thank you,” that Lothos had given
unto her along the corridors of the Internet.
For
one bright shining moment, Lothos had believed that he had decimated
the man who had been righting wrongs.
It was discovered that the good doctor had leaped into a
depressed young woman who had tried to commit suicide.
Watching the good doctor slitting his own throat and
beginning to close his eyes, Lothos had pulled his chief leaper out
of the Timestream and waited for history to unravel.
It didn’t. The
news had ripped him a new reprisal against the good doctor.
Now
free from the confines of the ‘Net’, he was able to look upon
his minions as they went about their daily routines.
He had already set in motion how certain players would be
split apart. Knowing
that his Chief Leaper, Vaughn Rickar, and Observer, Johanna Royden,
couldn’t be together to fuel their budding feelings for each
other, Lothos felt even more confident that his plan would work.
As Lothos observed Vaughn stepping into the accelerator, and
a moment later being engulfed in the power stream vanishing in a
flash of red light, he knew without a single doubt that this time,
Samuel Beckett, was going to die.
PART
ONE
San
Benito, Texas
September
23, 1966
San
Benito Veterans’ Memorial Ninth Grade Academy
4:45
PM
It
had been a long, hot, humid day.
It didn’t matter that most of the inhabitants of the city
were used to the sweltering heat.
Marla MacDale would never be used to it.
She sat behind her desk, her head propped up by one hand as
she graded the first pop quiz of her English classes.
It seemed that she had her work cut out for her since the
grades seemed lower than previous years.
‘What are they teaching these kids in junior
high?’ she wondered.
Marla
marked yet another low grade of forty-two at the top of the test
paper in front of her then flipped the paper over to begin grading
the next one when she heard the rap at the door.
Looking up, she flashed a smile for whoever it might be,
knowing that it could very well be a parent and she didn’t want to
appear unapproachable. Her smile brightened more when she saw the brilliant blue
eyes that belonged to her next-door neighbor, Patrick Cromwell.
“Patrick!
I swear if you get any more muscles under that shirt, you
could portray that comic book character, the Hulk.”
“Oh?
Do I look that much like the green monstrosity?” asked the
bald young man who took a step into the room as he flexed his
muscles and assumed an ‘angry Hulk’ pose.
Marla’s
laughter filled the classroom.
“Oh yeah, all you need is hair and green body paint,” she
pointed out to him before she stood and went to give her neighbor a
hug. “I’m glad
you’re back in town. Danni
was worried about you.”
“My
dog was worried about me? Are
you sure that you weren’t worried about me?” he asked as she
pulled back from the hug but kept her in his arms.
Marla’s
eyes danced as she gave Patrick a light playful slap on his chest
and stepped back from the friendly hug.
“What’s to miss?” she teased as she returned to her
desk and sat down. Picking
up the red grading pen she glanced at the paper before her then
looked back up at Patrick who had come to perch on a corner of her
desk. “So, what
brings you back to school? Need
some tutoring?”
Patrick
shook his head, chuckling. “No, I didn’t come for
‘tutoring’, Ms. MacDale,” he affected a slightly nasal tone as
a sort of match for her playfulness.
As she chuckled and asked, “Then why are you here?”
Detective Cromwell’s expression shifted to a more considering
mood. “I came to talk
to you about Lucas.”
The
lightness of the moment faded as Marla MacDale’s eyes became
considering. She
didn’t realize she had dropped the red pen as she met his
brilliant blue gaze. “And?”
she uttered the abrupt one-word question.
It
wasn’t the first time that Patrick Cromwell had heard that tone. It was always used with a client unwilling to hear what he
had been paid to find out. In
this case, it didn’t help that this was his friend – not a
client - as well as a neighbor and someone he had come to discover
that he cared about maybe more than he should.
“While
I was in Lake Charles checking on Lucas’ last job there, I came
across something... disturbing.”
He waited for the attractive redhead to say something and
when she didn’t he continued on.
He doubted that he’d get to finish telling her all that
he’d learned about San Benito’s newest school board council
member. “He’s…
not who you think he is. He’s….”
“Patrick,
men are never who you think they are,” Marla said simply as she
turned in her chair slightly to look at her neighbor.
She had lived beside him for ten years and although she was
physically attracted to him, she knew that a relationship with him
wouldn’t have budded. They
seemed too different. “Look
at you,” she couldn’t help but grin at the thought that flashed
through her mind. “A
Mr. Clean in a nice cute package.”
Patrick
Cromwell rolled his eyes at the analogy.
“If I had a nickel for every time someone’s said that,”
he responded with a wry grin, “I’d be rich by now.”
He appreciated the lightness of her corresponding giggle, but
it didn’t remotely deter him from telling her what he had decided
to go and find out on his own.
“Marla,”
he began, the tone of his voice dropping slightly. It was enough to get those brilliant green eyes fixed on his
face. “The reason I
went out of town these past few days, was because I was doing some
background checking on Lucas Abernathy.”
The
red pen Marla had picked up clattered back to the desk as her eyes
widened at what her neighbor had said.
Marla blinked as she looked into his concerned, handsome
face. "I...
Patrick, why did you do that? I didn't ask you to go out and do a
background check on my fiancée."
Blinking again, Marla leaned back slightly in her chair as
she watched Patrick Cromwell, a man she had trusted
now for over eight years, pick up the scissors from her desk and
begin playing with them under her gaze.
She would have almost laughed at the way he was playing with
them since she had witnessed Lucas playing with them yesterday when
he was in the room talking with her about their upcoming marriage.
"Why would you do such a thing?"
Patrick
sighed softly under his breath as he fiddled idly with the scissors,
listening to Marla MacDale's somewhat annoyed reaction to his
confession. Still, for
all of it, it didn't change the why of his inquiries or, even more,
the specifics of what he'd discovered.
"Well, for starters, it was a job," he said evenly
then hesitated when the scissors slipped from his hands, clattering
onto the desk. "Sorry about that," he apologized as he
picked them up, this time handling the cutting implement more
carefully, turning them end to end, even opening and closing the
blades a time or two. Glancing up to find the attractive woman's
gaze fixed on him, he nodded and continued.
"It
was a job," he repeated. "The
county school board advisor, Mr. Mayberry, contacted me about doing
background checks on the two new candidates.
It's standard procedure for anyone looking for a position on
the school board, and the election is coming up in about eight
weeks."
He
paused to take a breath and assess Marla's expression.
What he saw in her eyes told him he was facing an uphill
battle, but it was an aspect of his job that Patrick was familiar
with, namely giving unpleasant information to a person, usually a
client, that didn't want to hear it.
This was tougher still than that; Marla wasn't his client and
what he was about to say also crossed the line into her private
life. Her somewhat cool, "If you're working for the school
board, why are you divulging whatever you discovered about Lucas to
me instead of them?"
Patrick
placed the scissors carefully on the desk as he stood up and moved
to stand in front of it. Bracing his hands on the edge of the desk,
he looked intently into the teacher's eyes and said, "I'm
telling you what I discovered because, first and foremost, Marla,
you are a good friend, and friends, good friends, look out for each
other."
"Even
when it means sticking their nose into private personal business
when they weren't asked to do so?"
Patrick
nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Marla's determined expression.
"Even then."
Marla
squared her shoulders as she crossed her arms over her chest.
One eyebrow arched slightly.
"All right, then what did you find, Patrick?
Just come on right out and tell me.
Don't hem and haw. What?"
Straightening
up, the private detective put one hand into his pants pocket as he
sorted through the information he had to tell her.
None of it was good, so he decided to ease into it.
"Well, for starters," he said carefully.
"Lucas Abernathy doesn't exist." He watched the
determined expression on Marla's face fade, startlement taking its
place. Seeing her mouth
open and close a couple of times, Patrick said firmly, "And
before you tell me, it's a lie, I’m telling you that it's the
absolute truth."
"You're
lying, Patrick Cromwell!"
Patrick
sighed but didn't hesitate. "Birth certificates don't lie,
Marla."
Marla
MacDale wasn't exactly sure what to do.
This information was coming from a man that she had known for
ten years. She had
never known him to lie, let alone be a bad person, but she couldn't
accept the information that he was obviously trying to tell her
about her soon to be husband. "What
is this? Some kind of
new ruse to get me to not marry him?
You know, I remember how you looked at me when I told you
that I was getting married to Lucas.
You didn't approve then and you’re just making this up so
that you can get your way."
She
stood from her desk, pushing away the chair, not bothering to pick
it up when it tilted over and landed on the floor.
"I'll not stand for this, Pat... Mr. Cromwell.
Take whatever information you have and..."
Before she finished her thought, she started toward the door
of her room, her full intent to get away from the man who obviously
didn't want her to be married to the most honorable man she had ever
met.
"Marla,"
Patrick said as he started after her.
"No.”
Patrick
didn't stop to think, he simply reacted, moving quickly around to
the side of the desk where he'd stood a moment before, effectively
cutting off Marla MacDale's attempt to walk out on the unexpected
unpleasant news he was trying to give her.
Lightly, he put his hands out before him and against her
upper arms, not allowing her to pass by him.
"The
only reason I'm telling you this, Marla, before I tell the school
board, is because I care about you... as a friend,"
Patrick reiterated, though deep inside, he couldn't deny her words
about one of their last encounters. However, he brushed that aside,
determined to get the information said to her, no matter what her
reception of it resulted in. When
Marla took a sudden step back from him, he reacted reflexively when
she misstepped, tripping over the fallen chair behind her.
Grabbing her again, this time to steady her, he wasn't
prepared for her reaction. "Marla...
Marla, take it easy," he insisted. "I'm just trying to
keep you from falling." His
good intentions however, were rewarded by the teacher regaining her
balance, followed by an accusing glare and a frosty, "Get your
hands off me, Mr. Cromwell."
Patrick
just looked at her for a moment then stepped back until he was again
beside the desk. He watched his angry friend as she righted her chair again,
this time shoving it under her desk before beginning to thrust the
papers she'd been grading into a dark tan briefcase and patently
ignoring his continued presence in the room.
Blowing out a breath, he decided to continue with the
information.
"I
discovered the problem with the birth certificate when I went to
Abbottsville, Ohio and checked in the Registrar of Births records.
There wasn't a single birth registered, male or female, under the
name of Abernathy for the date on the birth certificate Lucas
Abernathy turned in."
"Were
there any Abernathys listed for any other dates?" Marla paused
long enough to spit the question.
"Yes,
but...."
"But
what?" she turned toward the man apparently bent on destroying
her future happiness. "Obviously
somebody in that office made a mistake and mixed Lucas' birth
certificate up with someone else’s."
Patrick
took a deep breath; she wasn't going to like this. "The last
Abernathy born in Abbottsville, Ohio or the surrounding area was
born back in 1901."
Marla
just looked at the man standing before her and shook her head at his
words. "That's
what I'm talking about, Patrick. Someone must have screwed up.
Lucas doesn't have a... a conniving bone in his body!"
"You've
only known him for five months, Marla," Patrick simply stated.
"How can you..."
"I
don't care!" she stated emphatically.
"I know him! He
wouldn't..."
"Wouldn't
what?" Patrick asked as he reached out and placed his hands
back on her upper arms.
Marla
jerked out of his hold and glared at him.
"He's a decent guy, Patrick.
I love him and you aren't going to take that from me."
Turning, she shut her briefcase, grabbed it and then turned back to
the man blocking her way. "Get out of my way, Patrick."
"Marla,
please listen to me. You
need to know what's going on with this man."
"I
said, get out of my way," she said with even more animosity.
"No,"
Patrick Cromwell came back firmly,
not having budged so much as an inch to allow her to pass.
"Not until you hear what I came here to tell you,"
he told her, his manner now forceful and professional.
"After that, if you never speak to me again... so be
it."
"I
doubt that you'll have that availability.
Goodbye, Mr. Cromwell."
Marla had enough of a surprise factor with those words that
she was able to slide by his side, but he was quicker than she and
he grabbed her upper arm and held her tightly.
Marla dropped the briefcase she was holding and immediately
began to peel back his fingers from her arm.
"Dammit, Patrick, let go!"
"Not
until I tell you what I came here to tell you," he repeated
calmly, his eyes coming to rest on her concerned features.
"Marla..."
"No! I don't want to hear what you have to say.
Just... leave me alone," she finally whimpered when she
couldn't release his hold.
San
Benito, Texas
San
Benito Bank and Trust
Lucas
Abernathy finished up the last of the work that had kept him
occupied in his office for the better part of the day—finishing
the fourth quarter payroll reports that he was preparing for one of
his several business clients. Closing
the file folder, he put it neatly into the top right-hand drawer of
his desk, made sure the surface of his desk was immaculate with
every item precisely in its place before he at last stood up and
pushed his chair under the desk.
Like everything on the desk's surface, so was he as
particular about the chair's placement.
"It
won't be exactly the same in the morning, Lucas," Sheila
Fenwitty, his secretary teased lightly as she waited to walk out
with him as she'd done each evening since coming to work for him
four years before. "The cleaning crew will move it to vacuum
under the desk like they do every night."
Inwardly,
it grated on Lucas Abernathy's nerves at the thought of walking into
his office, knowing that the precision he left it would be
disturbed, but not by even a flicker of an eyelash did he let it
show on his face as he picked up his briefcase and moved to the
door. Flipping the light switch off, he closed the door then as
casually as ever, strolled down the hall to the elevator and rode
down with Sheila, parting ways with her outside the main door,
watching her lock it.
"So,
what are you doing this evening?" Sheila asked, following her
employer down the few steps in front of the building.
Lucas
paused to turn back and watch the pleasant middle-aged woman who
wore sensible clothing and shoes descending the steps.
"Thought I'd stop at the school and pick up Marla and
take her out for an early dinner."
He smiled waggishly, gaining a chuckle from Sheila when he
added, "After eight hours cooped up with those renegades also
known as the cream of the next generation, she could probably use a
good meal, a glass of wine and some intelligent conversation."
Sheila
laughed merrily at the comment as she stopped beside him.
"No doubt," she said lightly. She said good-bye
again but didn't move as she watched her employer walk over to a
dark blue Chrysler four-door and get in then drive away.
As the vehicle disappeared down the street, she roused
herself and went to her own car.
Lucas Abernathy could be difficult to deal with from time to
time, but Sheila had been so grateful to him for hiring her when
she'd needed a job most and at that time most of the jobs were going
to the much younger women in the local work force.
Checking
for oncoming traffic, she pulled out into the street and headed for
downtown. As much as her aching feet wanted her to get home and out of
her shoes, she was determined to make a stop at the local china shop
to put another payment on the large bone china platter she had
selected from Marla MacDale's registry list as her gift to them.
She wanted to make sure that her employer knew how much she
appreciated him.
As
she waited at the next traffic light, Sheila mused under her breath,
"I wonder where he's going to take her for dinner?"
The sudden sound of a car horn honking behind her yanked her
out of her reverie and she stepped on the gas and continued to her
destination.
Once
away from the office, Lucas made his way as quickly as he could to
the San Benito Veterans’ Memorial Ninth Grade Academy, and in
spite of the heavy Friday afternoon "going home" traffic,
reached it within twenty minutes.
Pulling
his car into a parking slot across the way from the school, Lucas
got out, locked his door then allowed the warm September late
afternoon sunshine to relax him. He stood on the curb, waiting for a couple of cars of parents
come to pick up their children to pass, then strolled across the way
and up the walk of the school.
A couple of girls were just coming out of the school. He
smiled affably at them, waving off one girl's, "Excuse
us," then entered the building.
As
he headed down the main hallway toward his fiancée’s classroom,
Lucas spoke to a couple of teachers as they passed by. At the corner
where he turned right to go to Marla's classroom, he paused to look
around, noting that he was, at the moment, the only person in the
hall. He nodded to
himself and continued on his way. However, he had only gone about
four steps when he heard Marla's voice, shouting—by her tone her
anger was thoroughly engaged.
Immediately
he forgot about the quiet dinner and evening he had been planning
for them; instead, rushing forward, his only thought now was to come
to the aid of his future wife. Lucas was within ten feet of Marla's
half open classroom door when he skidded to a halt as he heard Marla
demand, "Dammit, Patrick, let go!"
For a moment Lucas just stood, his thoughts becoming
agitated. Only one of
Marla's friends was named Patrick—Patrick Cromwell, a private
investigator.
"Not
until I tell you what I came here to tell you," Patrick
Cromwell's voice was clear and of a volume to be heard over Marla's
own insistent tone.
A
welling up of nerves within him was squelched as quickly as it had
appeared as Lucas half turned to look back the way he'd come,
listening acutely for the sound of any possible approaching
footsteps from the main hallway.
Hearing none, he turned back forward and moved carefully and
very cautiously forward. He
wanted to hear, he had to hear what Mr. Cromwell was about to tell
his fiancée.
Marla
MacDale glared at the man before her.
She couldn't believe his audacity.
She tried to push past him but he quickly matched her step
and stayed ahead of her. Marla's
jaw tightened. "I
told you, Patrick, I don't want to hear anything that you have found
out. Don't you
understand? I..."
"I
do understand that it's difficult to hear something about someone
who you thought was honest with you and they weren't."
Marla
shifted only slightly as her hand came up and connected with the
side of Patrick's face. Instant
anger rushed through her and whatever she had seen in the handsome
man before her vanished immediately.
"Go to hell!"
He'd
expected her anger, and even the yelling. In the ten years of their
acquaintance, he had seen Marla’s temper roused to this level a
couple of times, but never had it been directed toward him, until
now. The slap just
caught his own normally even temper oddwise, his reaction a sort of
knee-jerk response.
Grabbing
the attractive woman by her arms, Patrick shook her hard a couple of
times then force-walked her backwards.
Only when the back of her body abruptly collided with her
desk did he stop pushing. Maintaining his grip on Marla's upper
arms, Patrick pushed his face closer to hers. "You may not want
to hear what I've discovered about Lucas Abernathy, Marla, but by
God you're going to, like it or not!"
Her renewed struggle to escape him he blocked easily, his
greater height and weight his advantage. "Marla, Lucas
Abernathy's real name is..."
"HELP!"
Marla screamed when her now former friend refused to let her go.
"Someone help me! Hel..."
Releasing
his grip on one of her arms, Patrick clamped his hand over her
mouth. "I'm not attacking you, Marla," he said forcefully.
"I'm just trying to tell you something that may
save..."
It
was that moment that Marla sank her teeth into his hand.
Yipping under his breath, the tall man jerked his hand away.
As Marla began to yell again, Patrick's gaze flitted downward,
raking across her desk. It
was a spur of the moment reaction, and one of the more stupid things
he'd ever done in his career, hell, in his life, but he was
desperate to make his friend listen to him.
It was, highly probable, the last civil conversation they
would ever exchange.
Lunging
forward, his action pressing his body against the teacher, Patrick
grabbed the pair of scissors from where he'd dropped them moments
ago and, holding them like a knife, pushed the sharp tips against
her throat. Like evil magic, Marla MacDale's cries ceased, her anger
instantly replaced by fear.
"Two
minutes, Marla," Patrick insisted passionately, staring down
into her wide green eyes. "After that, I'll leave you alone and
you can do whatever you want, but you are going to hear what
I have to say." It made him feel sick to his stomach the way
she carefully nodded her head ever so slightly. He was still pressed against her and in that position he
could feel how her heart was pounding in her chest.
Blowing
out a breath, Patrick took a step back while maintaining the
scissors at her throat. He
studied Marla MacDale's now pale face a moment then licked his lips,
took a breath and blew it out again and opened his mouth to speak.
"The
man you know as Lucas Abernathy," he began, speaking each word
clearly, "is really..."
The words that were to follow never reached the private
detective's lips as he was, from one second to the next, overwhelmed
by a huge wave of the worst dizziness he could ever recall
suffering. Patrick
shook his head and closed his eyes a second in an effort to clear it
but it just got worse and then suddenly....
Lucas
Abernathy had listened to the confrontation and he slowly slid to
the far side of the hallway to be able to look into the room.
When Marla yelled out for help, he took a step toward the
room but he wanted to hear what the investigator had to say.
It was obviously something very important and he wanted to
know exactly what he had to tell Marla.
It was hearing the P.I. mention his name that made Lucas step
even closer to the door. Then
it was seeing the man pressing his body against his fiancée that
irritated Lucas more than anything else and he took yet another step
toward the room.
'Tell
her,' he snapped in his head. 'Tell
her,' he reiterated again when he blinked several times at the
scene before him, his curiosity of the information driving him to be
still. He shook his
head slightly then leaned forward as he put his hand against the
frame of the door and watched the expression of the man change.
His
mouth opened in awe as he watched as the man holding Marla MacDale
moved the scissors away from her neck and in one swift move turned
them in his palm, raised his hand and plunged them into her chest.
A painful gasping moan escaped his fiancée and Lucas
Abernathy blinked as the man brought his hand up again, sinking the
scissors into her chest once more.
He
closed his eyes and leaned against the frame of the door totally in
shock at what he had witnessed. "Why Cromwell... why?"
Lucas asked softly, causing the man to turn back to look at him as
his hand twisted the scissors in his fiancée. Lucas blinked as he
saw the man smile slightly then turned back and pulled the scissors
out to raise his hand once again.
The
smile was enough to make Lucas shut his eyes and when he opened his
eyes again, he saw the private eye pausing slightly in the final
blow. "Marla," Lucas whispered softly as the man slightly
stumbled, his hand coming down again, the contact point this time
her neck where he had already placed the scissors before.
"No," he mumbled softly as he leaned against the
door as he watched his beloved now bleeding profusely from the last
point of contact with the scissors in addition to her other mortal
wounds.
PART
TWO
Project
Quantum Leap
Stallions
Gate, New Mexico
December
1, 2006
8:45
AM
Four
days and three nights had passed without so much as a false alarm of
the leap chime that always signaled when Dr. Samuel Beckett had
leaped into his next life in which something needed setting right
from its original occurrence in history.
In that time everyone, including the project's chief observer
had gotten at least two good nights sleep.
The staff, individually and collectively, had been able to
make a sizeable dent in whatever portion of the never ending
paperwork that was theirs to deal with, make any minor repairs and
do diagnostic testings that had to be set aside in the midst of a
leap.
This
morning, Al had wakened early and even gone for a run in the desert
outside the complex, followed in order by a shower and dressing, and
even a more or less leisurely breakfast with his wife. From there he
had gone straight to the Control Room to assist Dom and a couple of
the other most senior technicians in working on adjusting a minor
fluctuation in the synchronometer.
Taking
the charged handlink handed to him, Al walked up the ramp and into
the Imaging Chamber. As
the door sealed behind him, he stepped onto the center pad in the
chamber and said, "In position. Commence diagnostic."
"Diagnostic
on synchronization initiation beginning in five seconds," Ziggy
announced and then counted down the seconds. "Five... four...
three... two... one... initiating," she announced.
As
he stood on the pad, his gaze on the handlink that was dark in his
hands, Admiral Albert Calavicci took a deep, slow breath and exhaled
softly. Patience was the key with these particular diagnostics.
They could last five minutes or, if, as he had once commented
sarcastically, "The planets weren't all in proper alignment
today," when one particular diagnostic had kept him 'caged' in
the Imaging Chamber and standing on that center pad for over two
hours. Now, as the seconds slipped by and Ziggy didn't abruptly halt
the progression of this test, Al was getting a good feeling that
this was going to be one of those blessedly brief tests.
In the fleeting space left between two thoughts, the
observer's good feeling was wiped away with the sudden slight
darkening of the room.
"Ziggy,
what the hell...." The
rest of the question was lost as the Imagining Chamber, already
online for testing, was instantaneously shifted to full active
status and the power feed into the chamber surged up.
Where two seconds before he had been looking at the Imaging
Chamber's pristine white walls, Al Calavicci suddenly found himself
encased in the all too familiar swirling tornadic tunnel of past
history. A glance at
the handlink showed that it, too, was fully activated and he punched
in a brief coding to mark the beginning of the leap.
He
had barely closed his eyes and taken a breath as he always did in
preparation to the lock being made but even that was denied him.
His eyelids never fully shut as Ziggy announced, "We
have a lock," and the time tornado vanished as wherever Sam had
landed in history coalesced into a clear holographic scene.
He looked to the right and saw desks arranged in four rows
across and five deep. ‘He's landed in a school room,’ Al
thought. Then he looked
to the left and his jaw went slack. He didn't even feel the handlink
slip from his hand and clatter to the floor of the Imaging Chamber.
"SAM!"
Al yelled. "MY GOD, SAM... NO!"
But his words were too few, too late. Stunned beyond even
blinking, Al Calavicci watched in horror as the man he called his
best friend, looked up at him at the same instant he saw Sam pulling
out a pair of scissors from a young woman’s chest then lurched
clumsily, the scissors in his right hand plunging fatally deep into
the neck of the already bloody female body sprawled backward over
the desk.
He
couldn't move, not even when the leaper seemed to shake off his
confusion and jerked his hand back. Al cringed at the sickening soft
sucking sound made as the bloody scissors exited the wound.
He watched as Sam just looked stupidly at the instrument of
death in his hand before dropping it and, uselessly, pressed his
hands to the spurting stream of blood coming from the lacerated
carotid artery in the woman's neck.
It
was all too surreal as he stood there, staring at the carnage his
friend had clearly wrought, now yelling for help at the top of his
lungs. Al didn't know
what to think when Sam's eyes found his and pleaded for his help.
What came out of his mouth was anything but that.
"My God, Sam," Al whispered, making no move to get
closer to the leaper. "You murdered her."
"Al,
no, I didn't...."
The
bald-faced denial was the slap that jerked Al from his stunned
reverie. "I saw you do it, Sam!" he shot back, his voice
with only a hint of unsteadiness in it. "I watched you stab
those..." his gaze dropped to the bloody scissors on the floor
beside Sam's feet. "I
saw you stab those scissors into her neck." He paused, licked
his lips then reiterated more strongly, "I know what I saw,
Sam, and I saw you kill her."
Al
didn't get a chance to say anything more to Sam, as suddenly the
classroom was swarming with people. Male teachers, the principal and
an off-duty police officer who had come to pick his son up from
school, converged on the leaper and amidst shouting and cries of
shock and horror at the viciousness of the murder of a beloved
teacher.
He
stayed with Sam through the hours that followed, from Sam being
hauled off in handcuffs, to the interrogation to the booking.
Neither Observer nor Leaper had any clear notion of exactly
how much time had passed when at last, the cell into which Sam
Beckett had been shoved had its door slammed shut.
Through
it all, Sam kept insisting to every officer and detective who got in
his face that he was innocent. All through the booking and strip
search and the putting on of a one-piece orange jumpsuit with the
word "PRISONER' in two-inch high letters across the back of it,
not once did Sam waver from his declaration of innocence.
As
the officers who had shoved him into the cell finally left the
cellblock area, silence descended over the area.
Sam continued to cling to the bars of the cell, his face
pressed against them, his eyes fixed on the door that led out of the
area for several moments. At
last he stepped back, brought his hands up to his face and hid in
his palms for another minute. Lifting his head, Sam sighed and
turned to go sit on the bare mattress on the narrow cot and froze in
his steps, unable to move before the unflinching, accusing stare of
the man he trusted more than any other in his life.
“Al,”
he began. His heart
dropped through the floor when instead of coming closer to him,
Albert Calavicci, without once looking at the handlink, punched a
sequence of buttons, summoning the Imaging Chamber door, stepped
through and closed it. Not a word had passed the observer’s lips.
Now the silence in the cellblock began to grow to deafening
proportions. Not
knowing what else to do at this moment, Sam walked slowly to the cot
and sat down on it, scooted back till his back met the wall. Drawing
his knees up before him, he crossed his arms atop them then laid his
head down on his arms and closed his eyes.
Maybe this was all just a cruelly, horribly bad dream.
“Oh,
God,” he prayed softly. “Please, this has to be just a bad
dream.”
Even
as the Imaging Chamber door closed, Admiral Albert Calavicci
remained silent. Screwing up his mouth, he handled the handlink for a moment
before he took in a breath and let it out heavily. Moving into the Control Room, Al went directly to the
mainframe and without saying a word and not particularly caring if
the handlink was caught or not, tossed it toward Dominic.
"Al?"
Dominic called out as he fumbled then caught the handlink.
"Al, what's wrong?"
Al
didn't bother answering. He
walked out of the Control Room heading toward his office.
His step echoed in the hallway.
As he passed by Ensign Sharpe, Al blew off the salute the
young man gave and blew out his breath before he entered his office.
If it had been a normal door, he would have likely slammed
it.
Going
to his desk, he sat and rubbed his left hand down his face, then
covered his mouth and chin as he leaned on his elbow thinking back
over what he had seen. He
didn't want to believe it, but how could he deny what he had seen?
His eyes flew over his desk as he went over everything again,
his vision blurring, not really taking in anything that was actually
on his desk.
"I
saw you, Sam," he whispered against his hand.
"The question is... why?"
That
was the one thing that Al couldn't come up with.
It didn't make sense. He
had watched his best friend kill a woman, then immediately turn
around and begin trying to stop the bleeding that couldn't be
stopped. Why?
"Ziggy,
pull up any and all information on the man that Sam's leaped into.
I want all the data."
"Yes,
Admiral," Ziggy replied. The
parallel-hybrid computer paused slightly before she asked, "Are
you all right, Admiral Calavicci?"
Al's
eyes shot up to the conductive unit in his ceiling that he
considered to be Ziggy's eye into his office and immediately
answered the computer with a low military voice. "Get me the
data and display it on my computer."
A
moment later, a chime from his computer indicated that the
information was up for him to peruse.
Propping his head in his hand, Al began reading the data.
He had barely gotten into the midst of reading the
information on one Patrick Cromwell when a musical sound indicated
that someone was outside his office door wanting admittance.
Al
rolled his eyes and closed them trying to get his anger under
control. "Enter,"
he said and waited to see exactly who was going to disturb his
inquiry of Patrick Cromwell.
Like
everyone at the project, especially the most senior staff assigned
to the Control Room and surrounding areas, Verbena Beeks was used to
the leaping chime interrupting whatever she happened to be doing at
any given moment. Like
everyone else, when that chime sounded, everything else took a
backseat to the leap commencing.
However, this time, she had been caught utterly unaware when
instead of hearing the familiar leap chime, Ziggy’s voice
announced into her office, “Report to the Waiting Room
immediately, Dr. Beeks.”
As
she dropped what she had been working on to grab the notepad and pen
she always kept handy, Verbena said, “I didn’t hear the
chime.” There
hadn’t been time for further questions as Ziggy reiterated her
immediate presence being needed in the Waiting Room.
“On my way,” was had been her response.
In
the Waiting Room, though cloaked in Samuel Beckett’s aura, Verbena
recognized by mannerisms and bearing alone, that the Visitor was an
adult male. The
interview went more or less as a typical initial interview went,
except that this man asked her as many probing questions as she put
to him. By the time she exited the Waiting Room, she had been able
to discern enough basic facts about him to enable Ziggy to get
started on an information search.
Once
outside the Waiting Room, Verbena had stood for a moment, pondering
the interview, and even more, the Visitor.
Pulling her notepad from her jacket pocket she had perused
her notes, pursing her lips then chewing lightly on the inside of
her lower lip as she read. Somewhere
in that brief span of moments, she reached a decision and turned and
marched through the halls until she reached the door with the
nameplate that read: “Admiral Albert Calavicci”. Knocking firmly, Verbena had the door open and was inside the
office on the first syllable of the command to, “Enter.”
Holding up the notepad up for the project’s Chief Observer
to see as she crossed to stand in front of his desk, she asked
plainly, “What’s going on?”
“Sam
leaped.”
Verbena’s
gazed narrowed subtly as she tossed the notebook down before him.
“The chime never sounded,” she stated firmly, her dark
eyes fixed on her colleague’s face, “So I repeat, what’s going
on, Al?” His answer blindsided her.
Al
blinked as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his
chest and resolutely said, "What's going on is that Sam killed
a woman with a pair of scissors."
"What?!"
Verbena asked astounded.
"I
saw him do it and he's claiming that he didn't do it."
Shaking his head also in disbelief, Al pushed himself up from
his chair and began pacing behind his desk.
"His hand went down with the scissors.
It landed on her chest.
He pulled them back out, stumbled then got her again in the
neck. I saw him
do it..."
For
a moment Verbena Beeks lost her cool. "That's insane!" she
finally said when she got her thoughts under control again.
"Sam Beckett does not kill... unless it's self-defense
or he's protecting somebody. Did
you see anybody else in the room?
Was there a fight going on when you got there?"
Al
began shaking his head almost immediately to her questions.
He took in a deep breath then let it out slowly before he met
her gaze. "Verbena,
I'm telling you when I got there, Sam had her pressed almost
intimately against the desk, pushing her upper body down on the
desk. The scissors were
in his right hand and I saw him and called out to him as he went
down the first time with the scissors.
I saw..."
"Then
you must be mistaken, Al. Sam
wouldn't..."
"I
saw him bring down his hand the second time hitting her neck,
cutting her carotid artery. Verbena, he..."
"No,
Al. Sam wouldn't... couldn't..."
It
was as if Verbena had just told Al that he had lied to her about
what he had seen with his own two eyes and just the thought of it
made his temper rise faster than Mt. Vesuvius.
"Dammit, Verbena, don't you think that I know
that!" he exploded. "That's
why I can't believe it still! I know what I saw! I
saw my best friend kill a woman!"
Al blinked, closed his eyes then shook his head.
It was as if he was on automatic as he made it to his desk
and lowered himself back into his chair, seemingly to melt into it,
and then met her gaze once more.
"I saw him do it, Verbena," he whispered, the tone
of his voice so different that he seemed like a little boy caught
with his hand in the cookie jar, apologizing quietly for his
mistake.
Verbena
knew that it took a great deal to be able to rattle Al Calavicci,
and for a moment she didn't reply to his quiet response.
For a moment neither of them said or did anything as both
tried to wrap their minds around the unimaginable mental picture of
Samuel Beckett deliberately and without provocation | 