Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sebastian LoNigro set out to prove the String Theory that he had co-developed with his former MIT student, Samuel Beckett—an incredibly gifted genius who was destined for greatness.  After Sam’s sudden and untimely murder in 1973, a distraught Doctor LoNigro formed a strong bond with Sam’s older brother, Lieutenant Commander Thomas Beckett, and together, they both strove to ensure that Sam’s theories would not be forgotten.

Tom quickly rose in the ranks to Captain and eventually aided Doctor LoNigro in the development of a top-secret government project code-named Chrono-Leap, which was based off of a combination of the String Theory, and the work of the late Doctor Alexander Garner and his failed Time Displacer Unit.  During the initial test-run of the experiment, a malfunction occurred that endangered the lives of everyone inside the project.  In a bold attempt to shut it down, Captain Beckett bravely stepped into the Chronoton Accelerator...and vanished.

He awoke to find himself inhabiting someone else’s body 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 Doctor LoNigro, who became the Project Observer in the wake of the Accelerator incident, appearing in the form of a neurological hologram that only Captain Beckett can see and hear.

Trapped in an alternate timeline, Captain Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong.  All the while, he is subconsciously aware that another leaper exists somewhere, lost in time like himself, who holds the key to restoring reality back to what it once was.  Until that day arrives, Captain Beckett struggles to recall his lost memories of a “World Without Sam Beckett,” hoping each time to alter the hands of fate so that his next leap...will be the leap home.

Previously On The Virtual Seasons

Tom Beckett leaped into one Franklin Benjamin, founder and director of Sanctuary House, a homeless shelter doubling as a work/rehabilitation program helping homeless men get back on their feet.  Shortly after Leaping in, Tom found a desperately ill man unconscious on a grave in Potter’s Field and brought him to Sanctuary House.  Later that evening, Tom was stunned to discover he’d crossed paths with Albert Calavicci—a former colleague from the Starbright Project who’d been dismissed due to issues related to alcoholism and anger.  Feelings of responsibility towards Albert complicated Tom’s mission to save a Sanctuary House resident named Henry Voorhies from dying in an altercation on Monday, March 16, 1987. 

PART EIGHT

Sanctuary House

Brooklyn, NY

Monday, March 16, 1987

8:30 AM

Tom awoke Monday morning in a state of dread.  Today was the day of Henry Voorhies’ death unless Tom could do something about it.  So far, all he’d uncovered was Henry’s tendency to butt heads with Albert Calavicci.  Bobby hadn’t turned up once since Friday night and Tom was growing more than a bit concerned at his Observer’s absence.  It was unlike Bobby to remain scarce for so long and Tom wondered if the budget proposals Bobby had said he was working on had been rejected and the Committee pulled the plug on them.

No matter what the reason was, Tom was lost without Bobby’s guidance and input.  Without knowing precisely when Henry would be killed, Tom had no idea how he would prevent it.  The thought of shadowing Henry all day flitted across his mind, but Tom knew the impracticality and impossibility of such a prospect.

While Sanctuary House served breakfast, Tom studied men’s faces, watching each person Henry interacted with and hoping to find a clue as to whom the problems might be between.  Henry appeared to relate well with all of them, and Tom wondered why Albert seemed to bring out such a direct line to Henry’s anger issues.  That brought up a thought that settled like a rock into his stomach.  Tom really had no idea how much Al might have changed since Starbright.  He no longer called himself Al for one thing.  And how had he come by that disfiguring scar?  Was Henry’s fatal altercation with Albert?  Instead of saving Henry, perhaps Tom was responsible for bringing about the circumstances leading to his demise.

Shivers ran down Tom’s spine at the thought and he glanced across the room where Albert sat eating his breakfast.  Once again, Albert had picked an isolated area of the dining room in which to eat.  Donnie was working in the kitchen this morning and had already had his breakfast, so he hadn’t joined Albert at the table as he had at the meals yesterday.  Tom felt a warm rush of affection for the burly black man whose intimidating size masked the compassionate heart within.  As he watched Albert rapidly consume his meal, Tom noticed the small man glance around the dining room.  Was he imagining things to think that Albert looked apprehensive? 

He didn’t have more time to think about it, for Albert had finished eating.  After downing his orange juice, Albert rose and carried his tray to the designated area before he exited the dining room.  Tom watched him go until a tug on his sleeve drew his attention back. 

“Frank, do you have a minute?” Dylan asked.

“Sure, Dylan,” answered Tom.  “What’s up?”

“We’re running low on biscuits…”

Tom noticed during the group session that Henry appeared sullen.  He didn’t participate much and rolled his eyes every time Donnie spoke, which was often.  Towards the end of the session, Tom finally decided to try and get to the bottom of what the issue now between Henry and Donnie was.  He was still trying to figure out how to bring it up when it came to a head for him.

Donnie was talking about how he thought the “regulars” needed to engage more often with the “transients” and used his interactions with Albert from yesterday as an example.

Henry exploded.  “What kind of spell does he have on all of you?!  Can’t you see he’s just USING us?”

The four other men gaped at him while Tom cringed.  Donnie jumped back in before Tom spoke.

The big man challenged, “How do you figure that, Henry?  I haven’t seen you spending any time trying to get to know him.”

“He doesn’t want to be here!”

“None of us ‘want’ to be here,” said Donnie.

“You know what I mean!”

Dylan asked, “Because Albert’s not in the program?”

Henry folded his arms and nodded.  “I don’t care that he’s sick.  He doesn’t deserve the privileges he’s been given!”

“Frank’s just trying to help him,” piped up Matthew.

“Albert’s been pulling his weight,” added Dylan.  “Frank had him working in the office yesterday.”

“Cushy job,” sneered Henry, giving Tom a dirty look.

“I gave Albert the job I felt was best for him at the time,” said Tom, his voice making it clear Henry’s protests were wearing thin.  “His health is poor.”

“So’s his attitude.”

“You haven’t looked in a mirror lately, have you, Henry?” Donnie asked, sadly shaking his head.  “I heard you start a fight with him day before yesterday.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.”  Henry got to his feet.

Donnie did the same.  “You sit your butt down, Henry Voorhies.  You aren’t gonna stir all this up and then run away from it.”

Tension ratcheted up in the room and everyone held their breath—including Tom, who knew he needed to do something but couldn’t make himself move.  Slowly, Henry resumed his seat and glowered at Donnie.  After a breath, Donnie sat as well.

“I don’t know what your problem is, man,” said Donnie.  “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe Albert might actually join the program?”

“Yeah, right.”

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said in here.  Not really.”  Donnie shook his head again.  “If he’s treated like he’s an outsider, why should he want to try to turn his life around?”

“He acts like an outsider.  He won’t sit near anyone else in the dining room.”

“And apart from me, who’s gone up to sit near him and made an effort to get to know him?”

Silence filled the room and settled uneasily on every person within.  Men shifted in their chairs and stared at their shoes while Donnie cast his hard evaluating gaze on each of them in turn before finally looking into Tom’s eyes and smiling.

“I think that’s probably enough to leave everyone with for today, huh, Frank?”

Tom cleared his throat and nodded then watched as the other men uncomfortably shuffled out of the room.

A loud crack sounded as the cue ball broke the small diamond of Albert’s Nine Ball set up, perfectly striking the 1-ball.  He watched the balls scattering across the green felt and smiled as the 4-ball disappeared into the pocket.  Albert circled the pool table, cue in hand, and mentally prepared for his next shot.  He leaned over the table and bridged the cue at the proper angle for the shot he wanted to make, using his elbow to create a hinge on which the stick moved as smoothly as silk.

“Smooth and easy, Al.  You treat Alberta like a lady and she’ll reward you for it.”

Al nodded and stuck his tongue between his lips as he studied the possibilities on the expanse of green.  He slipped Alberta beneath the crook of his index finger and focused on the cue ball.  The smooth polished wood was heavy in his small hands, but he determined to follow Magic’s example and he drew his arm back and then forward, striking the cue ball.  It rolled along the table, striking the 5-ball and driving it into the corner pocket.

“Good job, Al!” praised Charlie “Black Magic” Walters, patting the boy on his shoulder.

“Y-you d-done good, Al,” stuttered Grady, taking possession of Alberta and giving Al a warm smile.

Al threw his arms around Magic.  “Thanks for letting me try Alberta, Magic,” he said.  “Thanks for everything.”

Albert watched the ball he’d just struck drop into the pocket, followed by the cue ball.  “Scratched that time, Magic,” he muttered as he waited for the cue ball to drop into the tray so he could place it and shoot again.

He glanced around the empty rec room.  All the residents were either in group session or outdoors working on cleaning the grounds or washing cars.  Vic refused to allow Albert to help outside and since he knew Albert wouldn’t attend a group session, he suggested the rec room.  The empty bedroom was Albert’s only other option and it wasn’t an appealing one.  Again wondering why he didn’t just leave the shelter, Albert meandered to the rec room.  At the sight of the pool table, a small grin broke across his face and Albert had set up for a solitary game of Nine Ball.

He wasn’t at all surprised thoughts of Magic came to him as he played.  Those had been special days for him—the first time he’d felt paternal love since his dad had died.  God, it had broken his heart to be separated from Charlie Walters when those stupid cops in New Orleans had arrested him under the authority of Jim Crow laws.  Albert remembered the tears he’d shed when the policeman finally managed to pry him away from Magic, the way he’d screamed and strained to reach the kind black man, using every ounce of fire within him to fight the cop who restrained him.  After spending a month in a New Orleans children’s home, Albert was returned to New York under the supervision of a stern nun who lectured him on the evils of running away.  She frequently punctuated her words by a sharp pinch on the fleshy part of his arm.

Even now, Albert rubbed his arm.  He shook his head and returned his attention to the pool table.  If he was going to think about Magic, he was going to think about the good times, dammit.  Albert coughed then picked his shot and bent over to set up.

“Does Frank know this is what you’re doing while every one else is working?”

The sharp voice startled him and he missed his shot.  Frowning, Albert looked up to see Henry standing in the doorway.  The angry young man had his arms folded across his chest and glared at Albert with ice blue eyes.

“Did you hear me, old man?  I said does Frank know this is what you’re doing?”

Albert pressed his lips together and turned away from Henry, stalking around the pool table until his back was to the man even though it meant he’d have to get creative with banking to make his next shot.  He succeeded and the 3-ball settled into the pocket with a satisfying clunk followed by the rattle of following along the channels to the tray.

“You really take the cake, you know that, Albert?”

“Do I?” Albert flippantly asked.  He didn’t look at Henry, just the pool table and the balls atop it.  He mentally evaluated several options based on the location of the cue ball before finally committing to one.  A gratifying crack rewarded him as the cue ball connected with its target and drove it and the ball next to it into the pocket.

“Why do you stay here?”

Albert didn’t have an answer—he hadn’t had one when he’d asked himself that question, so he sure didn’t have one for Henry.  Though his shrug was honest, it served the dual purpose of telling Henry he didn’t care.  He scratched his beard as he surveyed the pool table.

Henry reached out and snatched the cue ball off the table.  “I want to know what your game is.”

Albert quipped, “It’s called Nine Ball, kid.  Do you mind?”  He held a hand out, palm up.

Henry shook his head.  “What’s your deal anyway?”

“Like you care.”  Albert stared at the blond man, then shook his head and hefted the pool cue in his hand.  Henry flinched as if he feared Albert would strike him.  Albert didn’t see the point in correcting him.  Truth be told, the younger man’s constant animosity had annoyed him to the point he was finding the thought of punching Henry a pleasant one.  What he did was stalk to the rack and put the cue stick away.

“Must be nice to do whatever you feel like,” Henry said.  “Don’t stop on my account.”

Albert leveled a hard look at Henry.  “I’m not.”  He idly ran a hand over the sticks in the rack, allowing his fingers to pause on the heaviest.  Henry gulped involuntarily and Albert knew his point had been made.  He walked to the door.

“Don’t turn your back on me like that,” Henry said, determined not to let Albert have the last word.

Before he walked out, Albert turned back and raised his eyebrow at Henry, stretching his scar taut.  He waited a moment and then squarely informed Henry, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Tom paced in Frank’s small office, his nerves a bundle of electricity.  They were drawing close to lunchtime and he still had no idea when Henry was due to die.  The best Tom could do was keep as much of an ear on the goings on outside as he could.  After another panicked circuit, he decided to make the rounds.

He started in the basement, making idle conversation with the men pulling laundry detail then excused himself as soon as he could when he didn’t spy Albert or Henry.  Tom moved on to the kitchen, where the cooking crew was just starting on lunch preparations.  Again, there was no sign of either man.  Henry had to be around somewhere!

Tom headed towards the back lot and passed the rec room.  He glanced in and saw that Henry was alone, rolling a cue ball on the pool table and grabbing it when it rolled back to him.  Henry kept repeating this action and Tom stepped inside.

“Something on your mind, Henry?”

Henry looked up at him and shrugged, returning to his ball rolling.  “Just thinking about what Donnie said.”

“You, uh, you thinking about trying to get to know some of the transients, then?” Tom asked, hoping the uneasiness he felt was centered around his lack of knowing when Henry would be put in danger and not due to anything else.  If only Bobby would show up.

“Maybe.”  Henry rolled the ball again, but this time when it rolled back to him, he picked it up and looked at it.  “Frank, do you think I have an attitude problem?”

Tom hesitated, choosing his words carefully.  “I think you have some…anger issues, particularly where Albert is concerned.”

Henry sighed and dropped the cue ball.  “He just…brings out the worst in me and I don’t know why.  I wish Philip was here.”

That makes two of us, thought Tom as Henry mentioned the honeymooning counselor.  Even though Tom hadn’t met the man, he was absolutely certain that Philip was far more qualified to assist Henry with his anger issues than Tom Beckett.

“I know I’m not Philip,” Tom finally said, “but I am here for you if you need me.”

Henry gave him a small smile.  “I know, Frank.  Thanks.”  With that, Henry left the rec room and headed for the stairs.

Tom hoped that Henry’s self-reflection would have a positive influence on his fate.  He wasn’t Leaping, so his job was obviously not done. 

Come on, Bobby, where the heck are you?

Albert Calavicci had gone outside after the incident with Henry, and taken a seat on the front stoop.  He leaned an elbow on his knee and rested his cheek on his fist as he surveyed the street. 

He’d long gotten used to not having any friends.  Years ago he’d come to the conclusion that he was doomed to be alone.  The booze was the only constant he knew he could rely on…and even that had let him down.  How else had he ended up where he was now?

Albert sighed and his lungs seized up in a coughing fit.  He rubbed his face when it released him and leaned his head against the short wall.  Being alone was nothing new, and he’d not gone out of his way to try and make friends with anyone in years, even before he’d lost everything.  He didn’t know, then, why it bothered him so much that Henry couldn’t stand him.

He’s a little punk, Albert told himself.  A true nozzle if ever there was one. 

Rubbing his face again, Albert’s attention was drawn to a young couple walking down the street.  The woman’s head leaned against her companion’s shoulder and he had an arm wrapped around her waist.  As they walked past him, Albert noticed how the man’s grip tightened protectively around the woman.  She whispered something into his ear and the man smiled then brushed a kiss against her temple.

Albert remembered walking that way with Beth in another lifetime.  Even now, he could feel the soft weight of her head on his shoulder, smell the clean floral scent of her shampoo.  He closed his eyes and started to let the memory sweep him away, to take him to the end of that walk which had brought them back to their bungalow.  Once inside, he’d taken Beth into his arms and kissed her, his hand reaching for the zipper on the back of her dress and then…

He shook his head and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  She was gone.  Before he’d even come back from Vietnam she’d left him.  While he’d endured and survived, thinking only of her, she’d forgotten him and moved on.  Albert lowered his head and sighed, dissolving into coughs once more.

“Albert?”

He looked up to see Donnie standing behind him.  Cautiously, the big man sat beside him and rested a large hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, Albert?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

For once, Albert was happy he couldn’t shake the cough.  “I’m sick, Donnie.”

Donnie gave him a kind look.  “So why are you sitting outside then?  You know that’s not good for you.”

Albert shrugged.  “Change of scenery.”

The black man nodded but didn’t speak.  Albert turned his head away and cleared his throat to drive away the last vestiges of encroaching tears.

“How did you end up here, Albert?”

Albert froze before facing Donnie.  “Frank convinced me to see the doctor the other day.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”  Donnie smiled at him.  “C’mon, man.  Level with me.”

Albert shook his head.  “Sorry, Donnie.  And if my silence means you’re gonna hate me too then so be it.”  He got to his feet and brushed dust off the seat of his pants.  A moment later, Donnie followed suit.

“Albert, listen.  I’m sorry.  You don’t owe me anything.  And I don’t hate you.”

“Henry does.”

Donnie negated that with a shake of his head.  “No, he doesn’t.  He just doesn’t know you.”

Albert had to laugh.  “And you do?”

“I’m trying to, anyway,” grinned Donnie.

Albert laughed again.  “You’re all right, Donnie.”

“Back atcha.”  Donnie paused.  “Listen, why don’t you work clean-up with me this afternoon?  You’ll get to know some of the guys and see that they’re all right, too.”

Albert wasn’t thrilled at the thought of “getting to know” the others, but helping in the kitchen would prove he was doing his part.  He met Donnie’s eager gaze and nodded.

PART NINE

Sanctuary House

Brooklyn, NY

Monday, March 16, 1987

11:45 AM

One perk Albert quickly learned went with working on the clean-up crew was that they got to eat early.  Not quite as early as the cooking and serving crews and in fact, they held the fort down while that group ate, but they were the very next group to eat as the dining room was opened to residents and transients alike.  Donnie didn’t give Albert a chance to sit alone.  He steered the smaller man to sit with the other three men, which included Dylan and Henry.  Albert and Henry simply nodded in greeting but otherwise ignored each other.  Dylan had gotten good news that morning and he held court, so Albert and Henry’s silence generally went unnoticed.

“Vic said the job at the department store came through,” grinned Dylan. 

“That’s awesome, man!” Donnie exclaimed.  “Congratulations!  When do you start?”

“Next Monday.  It’s in the warehouse—not exactly what I used to do, but it’s a start.”

“What did you do…before?” Albert found himself asking, to his own amazement.

“I was general manager for an office supply store,” answer Dylan.  He ate a bite of sandwich and then asked, “What about you, Albert?”

Sorry he’d asked now, Albert focused on his bowl, noisily slurping the creamy potato soup.  Donnie gently nudged him and leaned in close to whisper, “Come on, Albert.  It won’t hurt.”

Albert sighed and met Dylan’s eyes.  “I was in the Navy.”

Henry snorted.  “Sure you were—that’s an Army jacket you’re wearing.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” shrugged Albert.

“Thought you didn’t like taking charity.”  Henry wasn’t letting it rest.

Albert turned to give the blond man a hard glare.  “I don’t.”

“Henry, that’s enough,” Donnie cut in.

Both Albert and Henry returned to ignoring each other and Dylan sat uncomfortably until the third man, Lucas, said, “Congratulations, Dylan!” as if the intervening conversation had not even taken place.  Dylan smiled and Lucas and Donnie restored a lighter tone to the conversation by pressing for more details on Dylan’s job.

Albert finished eating first and he didn’t wait for the others before getting up from the table.  He deposited his tray and then walked to the men’s room at the back of the dining room.  While he was gone, Donnie turned on Henry.

“Why do you have to pick a fight with him all the time?”

“Oh, come on, Donnie,” said Henry.

Dylan said, “No, Donnie’s right.  You need to give him a chance, Henry.”

Henry didn’t respond.  He exhaled roughly through his nostrils and then finished his meal.  He carried his tray to the clean-up area and immediately set to work washing it.  Dylan, Lucas, and Donnie exchanged helpless glances then shrugged and picked up their own trays as well.  The line of men needing a meal had begun to stretch and plates needed cleaning.  They arrived in the kitchen just as Albert returned from the restroom. 

Peace reigned as long as meals were being served.  Once the serving trays had been emptied and the last men left the room, the five men had only each other for company.  Albert and Henry worked on opposite sides of the cleaning area and there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the other three to keep the two distracted from each other.  Since Albert had slowly started warming up to Donnie, he took charge of the bearded man while Dylan kept Henry occupied.  Lucas decided to try to keep things light, so he regaled them with funny stories as they worked.

Things were fine until Vic poked his head in and asked Dylan and Lucas to clean the tables.  Donnie was left alone in the kitchen with Albert and Henry, and he cringed as he felt the tension thicken.  Things were silent with only the sounds of dishes rattling in the sink for quite some time.

Albert pulled his hands out of the sink and shook the excess water off then grabbed a towel and started drying off.  Henry looked over his shoulder at him.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

Albert threw the towel down.  “I was going to get some more detergent out of the cabinet.  Is that okay with you?”  He stalked to the cabinet in question and threw the door open, grabbed the detergent, and slammed the cabinet door shut again.  When he got to the sink, he squirted the bottle so fiercely that far more detergent than he needed ended up in the dishwater.  Frustrated, Albert slammed the bottle down on the counter and a small explosion of tiny bubbles floated into the air.

Donnie moved to stand next to Albert and started drying dishes.  “That’s pretty neat about Dylan’s job, isn’t it?  You’re next in line for one, aren’t you, Henry?”

Henry nodded.

Albert muttered under his breath, “Criteria mustn’t be strict.”

“What was that, old man?” snapped Henry, throwing the silverware in his hand to the counter.

“You heard me, kid.”

Henry glared at Albert and took a step towards him.  “You think you’re tough, do ya?”

“I know I am.”  Albert moved a step closer now.

“Why don’t you prove it then?”

Donnie tried to block Albert, but the smaller man pushed past him.  Before either Donnie or Henry could react, Albert had thrown a punch and connected with Henry’s upper cheekbone.  The blow nearly knocked Henry down and when he came up his hand was pressed against his left eye.

“That proof enough for you?” demanded Albert.  He panted, anger emanating from him as he stood before Henry.  “Or do you want me to hit you again?  Is that what it’ll take?”

“You’re crazy, man!”

Albert’s eyes narrowed menacingly and his fists balled up.  Donnie quickly stepped in between the two men and put a hand against Albert’s chest.  He felt the man’s heart racing with anger.

“Albert, calm down.  Henry, back off.”

Henry shook his head and shoved his way closer to Albert.  “No way, Donnie, this is between me and Albert.  We’re gonna finish it.”

“Come on, then, kid,” taunted Albert, pushing against Donnie’s restraining hand until the pressure started him coughing.  Only then did he take a step back, leaning against the counter as he revived the pain in his chest.  He didn’t let it hold him back for long, and as soon as the coughs stopped, he lunged for Henry.

Henry’s dander was up, but his guard was down, and Albert swiftly pinned him, twisting his arm behind his back until Henry grunted in pain.

“You might want to consider who you’re dealing with next time,” Albert hissed in the young man’s ear before releasing him.

Henry whirled on Albert as soon as he was free and inhaled angrily through his nose.  He grabbed Albert’s collar and drew a fist back.  Albert glared at him and brought both arms up inside of Henry’s grip.  Quickly and viciously thrusting his arms out, Albert knocked Henry’s hands away then stepped rapidly around to pin Henry’s arm again.

“That’s twice,” Albert said evenly.  “Want to try for three in a row?”

Henry yanked his arm out of Albert’s grip and gave both him and Donnie a disgusted look then stormed out of the kitchen.

“Geez, he’s a joy to be around,” commented Albert.  He gathered up the silverware Henry had thrown to the counter and began putting it away.

“Henry’s not so bad,” said Donnie. 

“No, not if you don’t mind someone thinking they’re better than you.”

“Henry doesn’t think that, Albert.”

Albert chuckled humorlessly.  “Coulda fooled me.”

“Henry’s just like the rest of us here.  Just trying to clean up his life and get back on his feet.”

“And I guess he fell from pretty far, huh?”

“Yeah.  He used to work on Wall Street until his addiction took control.”

Wall Street.  Albert was impressed.  “And what addiction would that be?”

“Cocaine.”

Albert looked over at Donnie.  “Cocaine?  Hard stuff.”

“Hard to get over, too.  But Henry’s done it—with a lot of hard work.  He’s beat the addiction, now he’s trying to get the rest of his life straight.”

“He could start by working on his attitude.”

Donnie chuckled.  “He’s trying to.”

“He needs to try harder.”

Tom was walking down the hallway when he overheard an exchange that made him stop.

“They got into it again?”

Lucas nodded.  “I was walking past the kitchen when I heard the yelling and I saw Albert pinning Henry’s arm behind his back.”

That was all Tom needed to hear.  He picked up his pace and hurried to the kitchen.  When he got there, he paused in the doorway and honed in on the slight man calmly washing dishes.

“Albert, may I have a word with you?”

Albert looked over and nodded, drawing his hands out of the sink and drying them on a towel.  He stepped out of the kitchen without saying a word and followed Tom to Frank’s office.  Once they were inside, Tom closed the door and Albert sat in the guest chair.  He folded his hands in his lap as he waited for Tom to speak.

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Albert?”

“Can’t think of anything.”

Tom looked intently at him.  “Not about the fight between you and Henry?”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Albert calmly answered.  “I was just making a point.”

“And that point was?”

Albert shrugged.  “That I’m not an old man and I’m not a slacker.”

Tom leaned forward.  “Albert, let me ask you a question.  Once your health improves, then what?”

“I don’t know.”  The answer, when it came, was quiet.

Tom paused then said, “I don’t want to see you end up on the streets again.”

Albert sat reflectively a moment before raising his head.  He met Tom’s gaze and said, “I don’t want that either.”

Silence fell in the office until Tom asked, “What do you want?”

Instead of answering, Albert alternately tugged at his beard and rubbed the back of his neck.  Tom let him fidget for a few moments and then prompted, “Go on, Albert.  Try to put it into words.”

“I want…a chance to start over.”

Tom looked at Albert, looked past the scar, the long tangled hair, and the beard.  He looked into Albert’s brown eyes and saw the first glimmer of hope, the first hint that the man he’d known, the man who’d achieved so much in his life, who’d overcome so much, still resided within this damaged shell. 

“You’re in the right place for that,” Tom said, “if rebuilding your life is what you want to do.”  He paused and let that sink in.  “I can’t say it for you, Albert.  I need you to tell me what you want.”

Albert looked at his hands resting in his lap for a long time.  When he lifted his head, there was no question in Tom’s mind as to whether or not he meant what he said.  With conviction in his voice, Albert firmly said, “I want to start over.  I don’t like who—where I am.”

“And to get that second chance?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

After stalking out of the kitchen, Henry had gone up to his room to sulk for a while.  He’d lain on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and counting the dots of the popcorn finish until he’d reached 500.  His temper settled down somewhat and he reflected over his fight with Albert.

His arm still twinged from being twisted behind his back.  Henry couldn’t get over how agilely the small man moved.  To look at him, Henry would never have believed he had that in him.  Maybe he was telling the truth about the Navy, Henry wondered.  He figured Albert had to have a pretty interesting story to know moves like that.  Pinned twice!  By a guy who only came up to his shoulders!  Henry was glad only Donnie had seen that.  It was pretty embarrassing.

The thought of Albert besting him now moved Henry from grudging admiration back to annoyance.  Henry jumped off the bed and began pacing the confines of his room until his nerves got to him.  He shook his head and opened the nightstand drawer to retrieve a pack of cigarettes.

Frank didn’t exactly approve of cigarette smoking, but he didn’t forbid it either…at least not outside.  Inside was a smoke-free zone, no ifs ands or buts.  Henry dug within the drawer for a lighter.  He wasn’t a frequent smoker—the pack in his hands had lasted him the better part of a month—but occasionally Henry needed to calm his nerves, and this was one of those occasions.

He left the room without speaking to any of the men taking a break on the stairs as he passed them.  Henry went into the back lot, now empty, and moved to a spot at the edge of the property, near the fence.  He lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke, tucking the pack of cigarettes and the lighter into his breast pocket.  As he exhaled, Henry closed his eyes and shook his head.  He’d let his temper run away today, found fault with Albert in any and every way he could think of.  And why?

Something Donnie had told him came to mind.  “We get most annoyed by what reminds us most of ourselves.”  Was that why Albert’s presence irked him so?  Was it perhaps not so much that Albert hadn’t chosen to enroll in the Sanctuary House program, but that in Albert, Henry saw bits of himself?  He drew a long pull on the cigarette and shook his head.  Preposterous.

Movement on the other side of the fence caught his attention and pulled him out of his self-reflection.  Henry saw two men approaching a young boy who couldn’t be more than fifteen years old.  His gut told him something wasn’t right, but for the moment, he just watched.  The boy glanced nervously about him, and nodded when the smaller of the two men indicated something in his hand.  The boy reached into his pocket and the smaller man prepared to pass over the item.  Henry squinted and saw that it was a small bag of white powder.

“No,” he whispered to himself, appalled at the prospect of this youngster becoming enslaved to the addiction that had held him captive for so long.  He threw his cigarette to the ground and shouted, “No!  Leave him alone!”

The boy panicked at the sound of the voice and ran off, his money still clutched in his hand.  The two men whirled as one in Henry’s direction and even from this distance, Henry could see the way their faces twisted in anger. 

They covered the ground to enter the back lot quicker than Henry could have imagined possible.  He turned to flee, but the larger man grabbed him, pinning his arms behind him as the smaller one punched him in the gut.  As Henry doubled over, the man punched him in the face, striking him in the same spot Albert had gotten him earlier.  Henry thought his eye was going to explode.

"You cost me a sale, you," snarled the bigger of the two men. "You stuck your nose into my business, boy."  He jerked Henry loose from his associate's grip and whipped him around to face him, his free hand already balled into a fist.  As he slammed his fist into Henry's face he said, "Now I'm gonna teach you what happens to stupid s.o.b.’s that mess with my business."

He beat Henry until tears streamed from his eyes.  Henry had no idea he could hurt so much.  After a moment, the big man returned to holding Henry while his companion pummeled him.

The punches continued until the smaller man appeared to tire.  But Henry wasn’t going to get off that easy.  The two men simply changed position, and now the bigger of them started in again on using Henry as a human punching bag.  He called Henry all manner of names.  The more profane they got, the harder the blows came.

Help me, Henry silently cried out.  Oh, God, help me!

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico

1400 hours

“Alpha, listen to me.  I don’t know what’s going on in that electric noggin of yours, but you’ve got to turn power back on in the Imaging Chamber!” pleaded Bobby.  “Tom won’t be able to accomplish his mission if you don’t.”

“I don’t want to jeopardize Captain Beckett,” the computer said, thoughtfully.  In the next moment, its voice went sultry again.  “Something is not right, Dr. LoNigro.  It upsets me.”

“I understand, Alpha, but if you don’t cooperate, things are going to go very, very wrong for Captain Beckett and he may get stranded in 1987.  Now, you don’t want that, do you?”

“No,” replied the computer.

“So release the Imaging Chamber, Alpha.  Please!”

The computer hesitated and a series of lights flashed on its panels.  Letting out a weary sigh, the computer said, “The Imaging Chamber will be back online in 5 minutes.”

“Thank you!” cried Bobby, snatching the handlink and pacing as he counted down.

The staff was so focused on preparing the Imaging Chamber that none of them heard Alpha sigh in its feminine voice again and wistfully say, “Oh, Albert.”     

Sanctuary House

Brooklyn, NY

Monday, March 16, 1987

2:35 PM

Albert left Frank’s office feeling simultaneously better and worse.  Mixed-up was probably the best word for it.  He rubbed his face, and then glanced around the building that was going to be home.  He supposed he ought to go tell Donnie he’d decided to stay, but Albert shook his head.  He wanted to be alone for a little while.

He paused before beginning the walk up the stairs.  He wasn’t sure why the walk to his room should be different this time.  Then it hit him.  He was going to his room.  There would be no questions about whether or not he belonged there now.

When he reached the landing between floors, Albert paused again.  He looked to his right at the small casement window, and felt compelled to look out of it.  Albert stared straight out at the plain view then lowered his gaze.  His eyes widened as he took in the sight of two men beating a blond man in the back lot.  A moment later, his stomach tightened as he recognized the blond man as Henry Voorhies.

He had no idea who the two assailants were, no idea why they were beating up on Henry, but Albert immediately turned and dashed down the stairs.  He grabbed the newel post, used it to pivot himself swiftly towards the back door, and barreled through it.  He barely paused to get his bearings once he made it outside.

One held Henry as the other punched him over and over again.  Henry’s face was bleeding—Albert could see it from across the lot.  As he drew closer, Albert saw the man beating Henry pause, take a step back, and then draw a knife.

“Get away from him!” yelled Albert, breaking into a full run.

Albert launched himself at the man threatening Henry and body checked him, driving him to the gro