PROLOGUE

          Sam's essence fizzed with energy as once more it was poured into another host like lightning into a bottle. Waking up, he tried to see straight as his eyes adjusted to the new situation. Everything around him was blurry and halved into two, but as he started to focus, all he could see was black everywhere... No, just in front, a blackboard devoid of writing. He breathed a sigh of relief as, once more, the familiar and relaxing sight of a classroom greeted him. Taking a brief look around, he noticed that everyone else was entirely naked except for a red clown's nose positioned perfectly on their face. They all sat rigidly upright, like an Army platoon awaiting orders, staring at the teacher, a stern-looking blonde woman in her mid-thirties who was similarly dressed. Only Sam's eyes moved about the room as he tried to make sense of this latest bizarre situation but, at the same time, as he caught sight of his chest, he realized that he was also naked but noseless.

          “Stand up!” roared the woman. All eyes uniformly turned to look at Sam, who gingerly rose from his seat with sweat dripping down his face. The woman picked up a thin stick and approached him, batting it back and forth in her hand; he wished Al would appear and tell him what to do. He expected he would leap out altogether or something would happen to enable him to make some sense out of the situation. “Your nose must be worn at all times!” She struck the desk in front of him with the stick. He jumped a little, his skin crawling and breaking out in goosebumps as a chill whipped around his shoulders. The woman leaned forward, mouth open, and gave him a long and passionate kiss.

          Sam closed his eyes but quickly awoke again with a start, sweat still pouring off him. He was back in the same classroom but this time it was different. Everyone was fully clothed and seemed to enjoy themselves, laughing and joking. The blonde teacher stood at the head of the class once more but this time with a broad smile covering her face. The blackboard read "End of Year Quiz" in white chalk with bold letters. The date above it read "05/28/76".

          “Mr. Boone, Brian Epstein managed The Beatles, Albert Einstein came up with the theory of relativity. Next is… ah, Miss Anderson. I see you're back in the land of the living,” she said, turning her attention away from the young, now embarrassed, dark-haired boy and looking at Sam. Everyone else followed her gaze and looked over at him. Thankfully, his arms were clothed in a green T-shirt and crossed over a notebook. Quickly removing them revealed the name Lindsey Anderson.

          “Your subject, should you choose to accept it, is television,” she continued. “In the ABC drama Sun Hill, what was the gender of the child recently born to hotel heir Rick Reynolds and his trailer trash bride Cindy?”

          Sam's brain searched quickly for the answer but came up blank. “Oh, Boy,” he uttered, wishing he were back in the dream again.

PART ONE

28^th May 1976

Tyler Falls, Oklahoma

“A boy is the… correct answer,” smiled the teacher. “The classy couple named him Randy Reynolds. Okay, the next subject will be... ooh, I think Geography, and let's go to… Miss Rosenburg!”

          Sam breathed a sigh of relief but his neuroses seemed to transfer to the girl sitting next to him, a dark-haired teenager wearing a blue shirt with white polka dots and a long grey skirt perched on the end of her seat. Her hands rapidly rubbed up and down her legs, a physical manifestation of her nerves. Both she and Sam felt visibly relieved when she answered correctly that the Sphinx could be found in Egypt. The next question was open to anybody and Sam's eyes lit up when he learned that it would be on science.

          “Who invented Penicillin?”

          Sam was shocked that no one had shot their hands up in the air. The question was so simple.

          “Woah, you must be out to lunch on this one, Sam,” Al smiled, suddenly appearing beside him, sitting at an empty desk.

          “Am I... I mean Lindsey... is Lindsey smart?” he whispered.

          “Oh, I see. You don't wanna answer if you find out you're Homer Simpson. Don't worry. Lindsey was one of the top gals in her class in all subjects, smart as a whip. We'll talk later, Sam. The bell will ring in five minutes. Stick with the polka princess next to you. That's Lindsey's best friend, Iris Rosenburg.”

          Sam's hand was already up in the air, begging to answer the question.

          As Al predicted, the bell rang five minutes later and the students poured into the hallways. Iris started chatting immediately like she had been under a speaking ban for the best part of a week while Sam looked around for Al.

          “…So now I just must wash it every day. I can't risk that happening to me. I mean, it did only happen that one time to that woman in that small town in Virginia, but I mean, it still creeps me out. So, I saw you were asleep again. You gotta stop hitting the books late, Lindsey. If you don't get enough sleep, you could get ulcers or zits, never mind the embarrassment of zedding in public. Did you have that nightmare again? The clowns and the public nudity?”

          “Uh, yeah, again,” Sam said as they stopped outside a couple of bright orange lockers, not knowing which question to answer first. “How do you know about it?”

          “You told me last week. Was it Jack Boone who was kissing you again?” She smiled, showing a hint of lipstick on her teeth.

          “No, it was the teacher… uh, I mean." Sam decided he had said too much.

          “Miss Bracken! Are you having those dreams again? I'll get my dream book and investigate it. Was she wearing the rainbow wig again? Oh, I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. The kiss was the important thing. I have sleeping pills if you want. Knock you right out, no dreams, nothing,” she continued, opening her locker and shuffling around some books. “Who are you waiting around for?”

          “No one,” Sam replied, peering inside her locker. Among several aged anti-war posters were a few photographs of family and friends. Iris noticed his interest and took down a black-and-white picture from the top.

          “Oh, I never showed you this, did I? Kenny developed this up in the photo lab for me. It's from that role Gracie took at the rally last summer. I hate me. I always come out so meh in pictures but it's a rocking one of you,” she explained enthusiastically.

        Sam looked at the photo. Amongst the many protesters squatting on an anonymous patch of grass sat Iris and a tall girl with a long face with even longer, lank hair. He pulled his locks down to eye level - sandy blond - and she appeared to be wearing the same top in the picture that he was now. Lindsey had a large grin and held a placard bearing the peace symbol and another word he couldn't quite make out. It reminded him a little of Tom. Every time he encountered the Vietnam War in some form or another, it reminded him of Tom.

        “I'm really bummed it ended, y'know,” Iris said suddenly. Sam looked up from the photo, still looking for Al in the crowd, a little stunned at the last statement. “I mean, obviously not for the guys over there. I mean, I'm glad it's all over. I just wanted to be a protester - a proper one - after school finishes next year. Guess I'll have to get a job now and I know marriage isn't going to happen anytime soon,” she continued.

        “We should be thankful that the war's over. People were dying over there and all you can think about is your career or some after-school project. Many people have lost fathers, sons, and brothers over there. My brother fought…” he stopped himself before he got too carried away.

        “Oh, no, I've jammed my shoes in my mouth again, haven't I? No, no, it's feet, isn't it? Well, whatever limbs are slotted into what... I'm sorry. Hey, I thought you said James had returned home now anyway?”

         “James?”

         “Your brother,” she explained, hiding her face behind the locker door. For a moment, Sam felt connected to Lindsey. She, too, had known the heartaches and worry of a sibling fighting an overseas war.

         “I'm sorry. I'll be shutting my trap up now. Aren't you going to put those in your locker?” she asked, indicating Sam's books, still tightly clutched like a security blanket.

         Sam searched Lindsey's pocket for a key and pulled out a bunch with a chain displaying the peace sign. Luckily, one had her address etched on 18 Latchmere Avenue, while the other had an L engraved. Sam took the L as Locker and promptly put it into the keyhole. The leaper then leaped back in fright as he stared straight into Al Calavicci's eyes, the Admiral's head perched on the top shelf, separating it from the rest of his body.

         “Boo!” he shouted with a wicked grin.

         Iris stared at him, clutching her hand to her heart suddenly.

         “You made me jump! What's the worry?”

         “I, uh, should've cleaned it out before now. I thought I saw a rat inside!” he hissed back, looking at the hologram.

         “A rat! A rat! Where did it go? Is it still here?” She started to panic.

          “I think it's gone now.”

          “I'll have to go wash up now. Just the thought of a rat in here, urgh!” Iris added, rubbing her chest and trying to calm herself down before closing her locker and heading to the bathroom.

          “I was waiting for you!” Sam hissed, moving into the locker as far as he could.

          “I was here all along. It's April Fool's back at the project, Sam. I love this day and no one has fooled me so far.” 

          “Just don't mess up any of the equipment. I remember once, about five years ago, spending the best part of a day digging Jell-O out of Ziggy's circuits,” Sam complained.

          “More like eight years, Sam. Typical Swiss-cheesed brain: more holes than a pile of waffles but you can still remember my goof-ups. It's being a woman again, isn't it?”

         “Don't remind me,” Sam sighed.

         “Oh, you've got nothing to worry about. According to our records, Lindsey was never what you'd call a girlie girl. Just look at you standing there. From a distance, you kinda resemble Shaggy. You know, from Scooby Doo.” Al chuckled.

         “Why am I here?” Sam asked, resting his head against the side of the locker, trying not to think about all the people who were probably walking by and gawking at him.

        “Let's start with the basic info dump,” Al began. “Your name is…”  

        “Lindsey Anderson,” Sam replied quickly.

        “She's…”

        “A teenager, junior year, I think.”

        “Uh, okay. Well, the date is…”

        “28^th May 1976.”

        “Outstanding, Dr. Beckett. Do you want to keep what you've won or go on for $1000?” Al added in the manner of a game show host.

        “What?”

        “Where are you?”

        “I'm in school.”

        “Ah, but which school? Which town? Which state?” Al smiled triumphantly.

        “I don't know. That's what I have you for.”

        “Tyler High School. Tyler Falls. Oklahoma,” the hologram replied, announcing each part as a separate point.

        Sam stepped away from the locker a little. “Why do I know that name, Tyler High? Was somebody killed here?”

        “Well, we believe that's your mission. A girl in Lindsey's year named Jessica Langley, known to all as Jess, committed suicide by slashing her wrists in that hall just down the corridor around 9 pm during the Summer Isle Dance, a kind of Tyler Falls Junior Prom, tomorrow night. It's a school tradition that dates back to the 1920s. They always hold a dance the day after the last day of the school year, something to do with the alignment of the stars or whatever.”

         “Do we know anything else, like the cause of death or what might have driven her to it?” Sam asked, his mind buzzing with different scenarios and possibilities.

         “Nothing yet. Ziggy's having trouble pulling files. Jess was from a wealthy family, so all lips were firmly zipped, hushed up, and tied in a triple layer of red tape for good measure. We're working on loosening it all up.” He took a cigar from his pocket and slowly lit up.

         “How's Lindsey taking all this, or what lie have you told this time?” Sam asked, sounding a little displeased.

         “Hey, you want me to tell her the truth? No, I didn't think so. She comes from a big military family, so I've told her that she's at Area 51 to answer a few routine questions, security checks, and all that,” he smiled. “She mentioned something about a dream involving naked clowns. That's what it was, something about naked clowns. You know anything about that?”

         “No, I don’t,” Sam answered quietly.

         “Are you sure?” Al smirked.

         “Certainly nothing stranger than I've seen before. I've been in your dreams, remember.” Sam smiled back.

         “Oh, touché, turtle,” Al replied.

         “Who are you talking to?” Iris reappeared suddenly at Sam's side. He closed his locker so fast he nearly caught his nose in it.

         “Just, uh, myself, trying to organize the mess in there.”

         “What mess? Your locker's always nice and tidy.”

         “Doesn't keep that way on its own.”

         “I suppose not,” she admitted. “Coming to History class?”

         A loud bang prevented him from answering the question, but it was one that Sam alone seemed to hear. Everyone else looked as if nothing had happened.

         “What's the matter?” Iris asked as she witnessed her friend suddenly cower at something. “Did your ears go pop? Mine do that all the time. I have medicine for it in my locker if you want some?” she added, but Sam didn't reply.

         Al suddenly marched through the locker and out into the unseeing crowd. The remains of a cigar were clamped between his teeth while a large amount of what looked like soot adorned his face, jacket, and shirt.

“Exploding cigar! I can't believe I fell for that, Sam. This is Tina's work. Sometimes, I swear she has a Jones for yours truly. Or it could be Beeks or, I don't know who, but there will be some trouble once I find out. No one fools Albert Calavicci and remains un-fooled in return!” He tapped his handlink and opened a door on the front of a locker on the opposite side of the room. Still ranting to himself, he stepped through it and disappeared back to the future.

PART TWO

Sam always remembered the lax format classes took at the end of the school year. Learning was his way of relaxing. So, when this strict structure descended into anarchy, it always unnerved him. Thankfully, though, Mr. Winston, the history teacher, had no such imagination or desire to teach as his Geography counterpart. He instructed the class to sit quietly and read from a book on the Civil War while he sat at the front working on his project. According to Iris, he had been secretly writing a time travel novel for the last year and hoped to get it published upon completion. Sam smiled and longed to glimpse it out of sheer curiosity, but he was content where he was. He knew his mission, he had enough time too, and he got to read about the Civil War for an hour of peace, something he rarely got and on a subject he had been dying to get back into ever since he leaped into his Great-Grandfather.

“Lindsey,” a voice whispered in his ear. It wasn't Iris; she was engrossed in the book or whatever magazine she seemed to have hidden between the pages. Before they sat down, Sam took the opportunity to apologize for his earlier outburst, not wanting to alienate a key person in his host's life. Looking to his left, he noticed a boy sitting there with a huge grin and red cheeks. Short and stocky, he had greased black hair, thick, black-rimmed glasses, and a buttoned-up blue shirt.

“Hello,” Sam replied.

“Alan Woods,” the boy added. “I'm sure you've seen me around, but we have never really conversed on any given subject, yet I have been in attendance here for a full three years,” he said quickly and with little confidence. It sounded like a very well-rehearsed speech he had practiced and wanted to get out of the way as soon as possible.

“Hi, Alan. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if any previous male had enquired about your availability for the Summer Isle Dance?”

Sam didn't honestly know the answer to the question. Indeed, no man had spoken to him since he had arrived and barely gave him a second glance. A girl's schoolbooks were often the key to her personality, but Lindsey's were quite drab, with only the basic information recorded on the front: no love notes, crushes, band names, or doodles.

“Sure, I'd love to,” he whispered back. His answer was flavored by his school year. He had known so many rejections but now he was in a position to help.

“Splendid. I'll call for you at 7.30 pm tomorrow night. I'm sure whatever you wear will be delightful,” he added with a broad grin. Red-faced and glad it was over, Alan returned to his desk and glued his face into his history book.

“What did he want?” Iris whispered.

“I think I have a date for the dance,” Sam replied.

“Wait! What! But you said we'd go stag together, feminists together, you…” she started breathing erratically.

“Calm down. You're hyperventilating.” Sam put his arm around her shoulder. This was not the reaction he had been expecting.

“Hypo…what? Now I'll have… have to… find a d… find a date… a date… who's going to want…” she continued, clutching her chest.

“What's going on there at the back, Anderson!” Mr Winston shouted from the head of the class.

“Iris is having trouble breathing, sir.”

“Why is there always something wrong with you, Rosenburg? How you've made it this far with all your maladies amazes me. Very well. Off to the nurse. I expect the principal has already built you a waiting room, all for your very own. Help her, Anderson!” he barked. As Sam helped Iris out of the room, he couldn't help but notice that the teacher was repeating his words under his breath and even smiling a little as he jotted them down in his notebook.

Instead of going to the nurse's office, Sam decided that Iris needed a quick break to calm down and a healthy dose of reassurance, so he helped her onto a bench over the other side of the hallway facing the window.

“Why… are,” she stuttered.

“Listen to me, Iris. Just breathe deepl. Breathe deeply, and normally. This will soon pass,” he comforted her, putting his hands on her forearms. The distraught girl soon regained her standard breathing patterns.

“I never meant to say yes. It just sorta happened, ok. I'm sorry.”

“Who will ask me now? It's way too late! We had a pact! A sisterhood!” Iris moaned.

“Well, instead of waiting for someone to ask you, why don't you just ask them?” Sam suggested.

“Me? I don't know. I don't.”

“Men like a strong woman.”

“No, they don't!” Iris retorted, still sounding distressed. “They like a meek little girl they can mold into a wife. It makes me sick.”

“So do something about it. What about, uh, Kenny? He must like you a lot to process your photographs free of charge.”

“I could. I could ask Kenny,” she smiled.

         “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Buy one geek and get the other one free,” a tall girl with long blonde hair, not unlike Farrah Fawcett's famous 70s hairstyle, stood behind them smiling. Two others, both brunettes, soon joined her. All three were dressed in tight-fitting blue flared jeans and various colored shirts.

“Hey, Lynnie,” the brunette in a light blue shirt wandered over.

“Hey,” Sam replied, sounding unsure.

“You three should be in class, Jess,” Iris replied.

Is that Jess Langley? Sam thought to himself.

“We're cheerleaders. We can do what we want,” the blonde added.

“Oh, pipe down. Hells, you'd be wetting your panties out here if it wasn't the last day of the year and all the classes aren't just boring study groups or lame pop quizzes,” Jess retorted, shutting her heckler up. “Like the shirts, Lynnie? Red, white, and blue. We're going patriotic for the day.”

“Uh, very nice,” Sam replied.

“Can we go already? We have to meet the guys. Tom wants to see you,” the other brunette added.

“You two go on. I'll meet you in the gym,” Jess replied.

“You're lucky Tom wants to date you at all,” the brunette replied. “You shouldn't blow this date.”

“I won't, Beth. Be there in five,” Jess replied, showing Beth a little more respect in her voice. The two girls barely said a word as they walked past Sam and Iris like they weren't even there.

“Lynnie, you still on for one last tutoring blow-out?”

“Uh, yeah, you betcha,” Sam replied.

“Fantasti. Half past four, my place. Had to change the time because of the guys.  We're all going out for pizza.”

“You sound like you don't wanna go?” Sam observed.

“If you don't, I will. Wow, Tom Stafford,” beamed Iris, blushing slightly.

“Aww, I'm sure you'll get your shot, Eye-line, just as soon as Satan starts manufacturing snow cones!” Jess beamed. She patted Sam on the shoulder and skipped off down the corridor.

“Those three, they're like some evil Charlie's Angels. Charlie's Devils, that's it. Cheerleading, irritating devils,” moaned Iris. “C'mon, we better get back to class,” she said as she stood up.

Sam watched Jess skip down the hallway towards her friends. She didn't look like a girl who would be taking her own life in just over twenty-four hours, and what's more, he now had a first-class ticket into her life and hoped to prevent any such thoughts or events from happening. Basking in the warm sunshine beaming in from the windows, he felt like this leap was getting easier by the minute but experience had taught him that those were famous last words.

Sam looked up at Jess' house. Luckily, Lindsey had kept a detailed address book. If only all his hosts were that considerate. The time on his wristwatch read 4.35 p.m. He was rarely late but needed time to think about the situation. The Imaging Chamber door opening behind him only broke his concentration.

“Miss Anderson,” Al growled.

Sam turned around to see the hologram dressed in a black suit, white shirt, black tie, and sunglasses.

“Are you going to a funeral?”

“No! Miss Anderson. Mr. Anderson. Agent Smith?” Al looked surprised.

“Should I know what youre talking about?” Sam looked puzzled.

“The Matrix. Oh, I guess you were already zigzagging around in the time tunnel when that hit, huh.”

“I don't know. I remember… no, I don't know,” he replied.

“Perhaps this is a Matrix. Did you ever think of that? One giant computer program constructed by… maybe Ziggy.”

“Al, Ziggy has trouble constructing coherent sentences, never mind whole cyber universes. Now, do you have anything new for me or not?” Sam demanded. He sat on one of the steps leading up to the house and basked in the warm sunshine.

“Nothing much more than we know already, I'm afraid. Jess' parents wanted the whole thing cleared up as soon as possible back in '76 - no muss, no fuss - to avoid any scandals. I've known bugs with more care for their young,” he added sarcastically. “No autopsy was ordered; no one thought it necessary. She was buried in a small chapel about a mile up that way,” he pointed over to the right with his cigar. “I don't know how you could sweep a body under the carpet so quickly but they managed it.”

“Something to hide?” Sam asked.

“Hey, I can't do all the work for you,” he smiled. “We've got nothing on any of them yet, although the father, Stephen Langley, checked into AA in July '77. This could all be brought on by his daughter's death or he may already be knocking back the hooch in his spare time. He was a lawyer so the small-town police were clear of any accusations.”

A knock came from the upstairs window. Jess opened it and waved to Sam.  “Lynnie! Come on up! Mom's just made some iced tea,” she shouted.

“Oh, who's that? It sure as well ain't Donkey Kong.” Al looked up at the young girl, admiring her youth, verve, and good cheer.

“That's Jess,” Sam sighed. “We're supposed to be studying together.”

“At the end of the year? You wouldn't have found me anywhere near a schoolbook then. According to Lindsey, they've been studying together for years. They have been best friends since kindergarten. They live a couple of blocks apart. Lindsey's a lovely girl, Sam. You'd like her,” Al explained. “She reminds me of you in many ways, even how she takes her coffee.”

“I'd better go up.”

“I think I'll come with you,” the hologram replied, grinning. “I'm thirsty. I could do with some iced tea.”

Sam started to walk up the steps. “You stay here, get back into your matrix or whatever, and find me some answers.”

“You're in the matrix, pal. I'm back in the real world,” Al retorted.

“Are you sure?”

“Don't start me on that,” Al smiled, returning his sunglasses to his nose. “I still have to find that prankster!” He took a step back and disappeared into the light of the door. Sam looked back up to Jess, now gone from the window, and walked casually into the house.

Sam became more settled as he started talking to Jess. Her bedroom looked like any other teenage girl's in the mid-1970s, with posters of pop stars ripped with force from magazines adorning the walls and thankfully covering the garish wall paint. Many cuddly toys adorned a wicker chair in the corner near the bed where they were sitting.

“What were you doing down there for so long?” Jess asked.

“Just, uh, going over notes in my head, whole lesson plan, y'know,” he bluffed.    

“You make me sound like a retard,” Jess said.

“I just like to have things straight in my head,” Sam replied, hoping he hadn't upset her.

“Once in a while, you should just let go of all your lists and plans. The future isn't all mapped out. We do have some room to maneuver,” she giggled. “But, hey, I'm no one to talk to. I'm a mess right now. Perhaps we should trade places one day.”

“Oh, that would certainly be easier,” Sam added quietly. “Shall we start now?”

“In here? No, let's go into the study. Come on and bring your tea,” she grabbed Sam's hand. They both took two glasses of iced tea from a small table by the bedside and skipped down the hallway toward the study. Sam stumbled along the route. Skipping wasn't his thing but he tried to keep up the pretense, although he got the feeling Lindsey wasn't a skipper either.

“We can start now, Mr. Kotter,” Jess giggled, pulling up a stool. Sam sat on a large leather seat and dropped Lindsey's schoolbooks on the adjacent desk. An empty bottle bearing a vodka label fell from one of the shelves. Jess looked embarrassed.

“That's my dad's. I guess it helps him work or something.”

“Does he empty a lot of these?”

“Pretty much.”

“Has he ever hurt you?” Sam said, immediately feeling like he had jumped the gun.

“No, no... Well, he tripped over me when I was a nibblet. I had a bruise on my leg for a week,” she explained. “Why are you asking anyway?”

“I, uh, just know someone, a friend of my dad's, who used to beat up his kids after a few drinks. I'm sure your dad will get help.”

“Help would be cool. This must end, Lynnie. I want it to be over, never to see another bottle of that stuff in the house!” Tears started to form in her eyes, and Sam hugged her.

“Can we just get on with the study, please?” Jess asked.

“Sure,” Sam replied. “Let's, uh, start with algebra.”

“We did that already. Let's do some square roots. I really need to gen up on those.” She sounded unemotional, taking a book and flipping through the pages.

          The math tutorial passed quite quickly. They spent about an hour sorting through square roots, sines, cosines, and tangents. Sam was surprised at her intelligence and just how little she needed to brush up on. He also enjoyed spending time with her; she seemed lovely and bubbly with a pin-sharp mind. There was also a sense of satisfaction that he had saved her life. Perhaps if she had someone to talk to, then she wouldn't feel the need to take her own life tomorrow night. Maybe he could even speak with her father and persuade him to enter AA earlier. The leap wasn't over yet but he could feel he was on the right track.

Jess shut her book with an almighty whack. “Okay, your lesson is over! School's out! Yeah!” she said with a wicked grin. “Mine begins!”

Sam looked puzzled.

“Popularity 101, Lynnie.” Jess grabbed his hand again and led him back into the bedroom. While she bounced into another room to look for something, Sam rifled through Lindsey's bag and found a notebook that bore no title except for Professor Higgins. He smiled at the My Fair Lady reference but understood it must be kept from prying eyes. Lindsey had kept meticulous notes and it seemed that, in return for her tutoring, Jess had been helping her friend with her social skills, helping her to fit in better, and perhaps invite less ridicule than had already been dished out by her friends. He was a little disappointed. In his short time as her, he had come to respect Lindsey as a girl after his own heart - nerdy and proud of it - yet here she was trying to be like all the rest of the kids. The book contained notes on her posture, dress sense, and music she should listen to. He was holding, perhaps, one of the first lifestyle guides.

Jess skipped back into the room, rosy-cheeked.

“Did you find whatever it was?” Sam asked.

“Find? Oh, no, I didn't. It must be lost or something but don't change the subject. I'm disappointed in you, Lindsey Anderson. I thought I taught you how to walk properly and to do a cute little wiggle. You pulled it off so well. News on the grapevine reported that all the right guys were even starting to notice you a little. And now what do I see? Today, you've been trotting along there like John Wayne. You're worse than before. Get some grace, Lynnie. Now, how'd that happen?”

“Guess I just forgot…” Sam felt embarrassed.

“You just woke up and forgot how to walk properly?” Jess retorted sarcastically.

“That sounds worse than it is. Hmm, at least you're trying with the makeup now." She examined Lindsey's face like a lab rat. “Some good eye shadow work, mascara, lips the best I've seen. Overall, I give you an eight out of ten." She smiled. “You must make a real effort over the summer. Especially if you want to make the squad next year.”

“I'm trying out for cheerleader?” Sam asked, sounding surprised.

          “Ok, you need more enthusiasm, much more, in that line. Yeah, I'm gonna be a cheerleader! Woo-Hoo!" she said, giving a little star jump at the end. “Now, c'mon, we need to practice. Oh, I need my Rollers LP.”

She leaped over to a large leather case and flipped through a bounty of records. Sam reveled in the smell of vinyl, taking him back to… well, now. He peeked and spotted some Queen, Black Sabbath, and even Blondie.

“Are you a rock fan?” he asked next.

“Yeah, kinda closet of me, I know, but I like to headbang now and again. Not like Doug Hill and the rest of those stoner losers who hang out around the back of the gym. I nearly tried out for a band once but my mom said it wouldn't be right of me.”

“Why's that?”

“Oh, she said that, with my looks, I could follow my sister into cheerleading, be prom queen, and all that.”

“You know you don't have to be if you don't want to,” added Sam. Alarm bells started to ring in his head.

“Oh, but I do. I love the rush of cheering, getting up in front of all those people, and being the center of attention for a few minutes. Isn't every girls dream to be prom queen too, standing up there on one of the biggest nights of your life?" Jess said with a faraway look. “Don't you dream of it too? You told me you did before.”

“I, uh, yeah, I suppose,” he replied briefly, trying to remember his prom night.

“You have a cheerier, upbeat attitude lately, which is just super. I worried for you last year, although a little birdie tells me that Alan Wood asked you to the dance."

“Yeah, he did,” Sam blushed a little but wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was some of Lindsey coming through.

“Super, he seems… really… sweet,” Jess struggled to find the words.

“I really like him,” Sam lied.

“Good for you,” Jess replied flatly. “If you like him, then that's… super… for you.”

She searched her box until she found the one she was looking for, not making eye contact with Sam.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, rushing the disc over to her player in the corner of the room. Sam still marveled at playing a record as it had been gone from his mind for so long. It still held a certain amount of nostalgic value. Teenagers in the future with their Walkmans, CD players, and MP3 players would never know the loving sound of a hissing LP being played by a needle buried into the disc. As he traveled through time, though, he found that his rose-tinted spectacles seemed to be slipping more and more as, on most leaps, the past turned into the everyday. Now, he wasn't sure what to think.

Once the record was playing, Jess started jumping around, making all kinds of moves and expecting Sam to keep up, which he tried to do. He gave a valiant performance trying to imitate star jumps, rolls, and gymnastic movements that his partner seemed to find easy. Jess seemed pleased, so he must've been doing something right.

When he finally left the house over two hours later, he was sweating profusely and found Al waiting for him.

“Boy, tutoring takes it from you, huh,” he commented.

“You didn't tell me Jess was tutoring Lindsey too!” Sam replied, “I've just been jumping around all over that room like a… like a…”

“Cheerleader?”

“Over enthusiastic frog for the past hour!”

“Hey, Lindsey only just told me about that. She's distraught, by the way. That's one reason I came back here. She really wants to join that squad.”

“She can have all summer to practice, Al. Once this leap is over and Jess is saved from herself, I'm out of here!” Sam said, still a little out of breath. He started walking along the road.

“You sound unusually confident, Sam.

“I am. I think I've cracked this one,” he added.

“You know that Lindsey's house is the other way,” Al tried to help. Sam turned around and walked back past the Langley house.

“Jess still dies,” he added.

Sam froze and dipped his head.

“Anything else?”

“The name Alan Woods sounding any ding dongs?”

“Yeah, he asked me to the dance,” Sam looked around. Al looked a little stunned.

“And you don't know the name at all? It's not running around your head setting off fires?”

“Why? Should it? If you have something to tell me, just spit it out.”

“Alan Woods was a serial killer!” Al blurted out.

PART THREE

“A serial killer?” Sam looked mystified. “How on earth do I not know this? How is this information missing from my mind?”

“That's leaping for you, dicing with amnesia every time, but we are working on a cure. Adjusting the process ever so slightly,” Al explained.

“This is all very well, Al, but excuse me for not holding my breath. So, who is this guy anyway?” Sam asked.

“His first known kill was at Emerson College, Oklahoma, in the winter of 1977. A 20-year-old English major named Alison Wendell. She spurned his advances. Guess some guys really don't take rejection well, huh?” He tried to joke a little, but he could see Sam wasn't in that kind of mood as he began to trudge along the road. “Sparing all the gory details, he kills at least eight more girls we know about until his arrest in the mid-80s. He was finally sent to the chair in February 1998.”

“That's just great. I'm going to the dance with a serial killer. Why didn't you warn me? This is exactly the sort of thing a project observer is supposed to do. I need vital information as soon as possible,” Sam demanded.

“Information is being collated all the time. We can't be on top of everything and, anyway, you didn't think to inform me about your little date! This came up as we ran scenarios and checks on everyone in that school at this time!” Al replied, getting rather angry. “One thing we did match up was the similarities between how Jess died and the Woods murders. It seems he set up his victims to look like accidents or suicides where he could to avoid detection, and this seems like a classic case. Young Alan could have started his career a little early and with Jess Langley!”

“Do you really think so? Can we be that certain?” Sam asked.

“It's a possibility, Sam, just like any other. We can't rule it in or out for definite. At least you'll be with him all night,” Al added.

“What if it isn't him?”

“Then you'll have to master the art of being in two places simultaneously. If in doubt, just keep your eyes on Jess. Just keep the two apart and you'll be home free. I've also investigated dear old Dad and it seems he was one of the chaperones at the dance, so he could still be in the frame.”

“In the frame?”

“Okay, so I've watched many cop shows recently. It doesn't alter anything, Sam.”

“Well, that's simple enough. All I have to do is keep Jess away from Alan and her father, watch her wherever she goes, try and pretend I'm on a date, and probably have Iris beside me everywhere I go talking about her allergies,” Sam concluded.

“I never said it would be easy,” said Al with a small smile.

“It's not impossible. You can trail her while I keep the other two occupied. What did Lindsey do on the day of the dance?” he asked.

Al checked the handlink. “She goes to school, helps with the preparations, returns about 4 p.m., and then gets ready. That's what's supposed to happen anyway. Iris and Lindsey intended to make some kind of feminist statement by going stag, hen, or whatever, but that didn't work. Most of the school thought they were gay, but you changed that by agreeing to link arms with Hannibal Lecter.”

“And if I had known that in the first place, I wouldn't have accepted, would I!” Sam snarled back.

“At the time, there was no reason why you should know. You don't need to know absolutely everything!” Al argued.

“Okay, okay, let's just agree to disagree on that. What's done is done,” Sam said, turning a corner and entering Lindsey's street. “I'll go into school tomorrow just as planned and see whether I can keep Jess under a tight rein or something.

“I'll try and dig up more stuff on the night itself. There are a few contacts I want to try out. They may know what happened.”

The two barely exchanged pleasantries as Al stepped back into the door while Sam continued towards Lindsey's house.

Sam slept peacefully in Lindsey's large bed that night, with the sounds and smells of seventies domesticity comforting him. As usual, during these lulls in action, he felt restless. Everything was leading up to the Summer Isle Dance, so the situation would have to be sorted out there and then. There seemed to be no way of stopping it. Sometimes, you just have to let things play out naturally. He supported Jess and left her feeling she wouldn't take her own life. She seemed so happy and looking forward to the future. If Alan, Stephen, or anybody else tries to kill her for whatever reason, that would be the place to do it. So, now he was left with nothing to do, time to lose, which he rarely had. He decided to use it to soak up the seventies, the things he missed that he never had time to take in on a regular leap. Bouncing around in time sometimes meant that time itself had no meaning for him and, in the end, he had to stay focused on that period, its styles and attitudes in particular, to try and blend in as best he could.

Iris rang him just after M*A*S*H, gushing about her love for Mike Farrell and how sexy his mustache looked. Sam couldn't help but laugh as he recalled similar conversations his sister Katie had with many of her girlfriends growing up, and he even tried to imitate them a little, which only served to puzzle Iris more. Once they had finished an hour's worth of chat, Sam replaced the heavy receiver, so different from the lightweight mobile phone that teens of the future would be using, and slumped into a heavy armchair in the darkened den, thinking. Lindsey's parents had just gone to bed.  The dance was tomorrow night and, despite all the anticipation he felt going through the motions of a leap, he began to feel the buzz a little, but perhaps he just had more confidence in himself. Despite all the machinations, all he had to do, boiled down simply, was to prevent Jess from being in a certain place at a certain time. That was the face of it, at least, but it certainly wouldn't be as easy as it sounded in his head.

“People have wanted to travel in time for all sorts of reasons,” Al said. “You only have to look at the movies to see why. Some want to sort out all the world's wrongs, like you. Some want to alter some kind of personal problem or just to build a nice little nest egg for the future. I mean, go back just a week and you could get the winning lottery numbers and change your whole life just like that.” He clicked his fingers.

“Is this leading anywhere?” Sam sighed, resting his head in his hand.

“Now, this is why I wanted to become a time traveller,” Al replied.

“You're an Observer, you're not here. This is just a virtual reality world for you, whereas I'm putting my life in danger,” Sam retorted.

Al turned his head and took a puff of his cigar. “Okay, perhaps I'm not here physically, but I'm here in spirit - well, hologram - sharing the journey with you, being your eyes and ears, and offering what little help and encouragement I can along the way. And if there are certain perks, well…” He smiled.

“The cheerleaders,” Sam rolled his eyes.

They sat on the bleachers in the half-deserted school gymnasium, watching Jess and her fellow cheerleaders run through their moves one last time before the summer break. She had invited Sam to watch just before they started decorating it for the dance. Already, some banners were half pinned up. This was another of Jess' Popularity 101 lessons for Lindsey, as she wanted her to try out next year. The situation took him back to his school days, watching the girls dance around and feeling ashamed of himself for his lust.

“This reminds me of American Beauty,” mused Al.

“American Beauty?” Sam asked.

“It's a film, remember. Except you probably don't. I think it was released after you started leaping.”

“Have a lot of things changed while I've been gone?” Sam asked soberly.

“Not that you would notice. The beer is still cold and the girls are still hot. It doesn't matter anyway, Sam, because one day you will be back home and for good this time, so I'll show you all the movies you've missed, TV shows, the best bands, the works. It'll be like you've never been away.” Al turned to his friend and smiled. “Hey, where's Jess?”

“I think she's in the back,” replied Sam, feeling elated due to his friend's words and bolstering the belief that he would be home again someday. A private fear that often reared in the back of his head was that he would be out of step with the times upon his retur but, then again, some would say he never was with them in the first place, with his nose always stuck in a book or locked away working on some project or other. He was hardly the pop culture vulture that Al was.

Jess re-entered the room, dressed in her uniform, and started doing warm-up exercises until she noticed Sam staring out. She beckoned for him to come down with another broad grin on her face.

“What does she want?” Sam asked Al through gritted teeth while waving back.

“Go and see. I have to get back anyway,” replied Al.

Sam rushed down the steps to meet her on the floor, where she immediately took his hands and dragged him back towards the changing rooms.

“I have a surprise for you…” she said melodically while giggling.

“What's in here?” Sam asked.       

“I want you to join in with practice today, Lynnie. Call it a little test or dry run for next year's tryouts.”

“Me? Now?” Sam replied, shocked and a little scared. He felt he would make a fool of himself should he venture onto the floor with the cheerleaders. “I can't. These jeans are too tight. I wouldn't get the right amount of, uh, movement.”

“No problem. We switch!” Jess smiled, taking off her top and throwing it at him.

A few moments later, the two emerged from the changing rooms in the image of each other. Jess wore Lindsey's jeans and a red shirt, which hung loosely around her slim frame, while Sam wore Jess' cheerleader outfit, a mustard yellow top emblazoned with the school logo and a short maroon skirt. He was feeling very embarrassed at that point. Half of the girls assembled shot disparaging glances while the others broke into laughter. What made matters worse was that he had also just spotted Al reappearing in the bleachers.

“Nice legs!” he shouted, suddenly appearing beside the leaper.

“Don't you have a project to get back to,” Sam replied out of the corner of his mouth.

Jess stood at the front, deflecting all the glances at her new clothes. She just didnt seem to care. “Okay, ladies. Lindsey is going to be trying out with us today and I'm hoping she's gonna be the star of next years squad. So let's see some of her groovy moves! Wooo!” She went over to a record player and put on a song that Sam didn't recognize but was nevertheless upbeat.

“Did I invent this back in '62?” he asked.

“It can't be proved but, yeah, I think you did,” Al replied. “Just follow along with the others and you'll be okey-dokey.”

“Are things ever okey-dokey for us?” Sam retorted.

“It's just a little dancing around, nothing to it. It's not like it's rocket science.”

“No, rocket science is a helluva lot easier and darn sight less embarrassing!” Sam added.

“You with us, Big Bird?” one girl cried out. The whole squad was staring at Sam talking to what they thought was thin air except, this time, it was because Al had just vanished again. Sam moved to the position with Jess' tight clothes clinging to him uncomfortably and giving him trouble walking, nevermind any other physical activity. He caught sight of his reflection in a nearby window and Lindsey looked back, just as unhappy as he was. Jess didn't seem bothered as she clapped her hands together, albeit engulfed by Lindsey's sleeves. To start him off, she even demonstrated a few moves. The other girls looked a little bored as they knew the same routines by heart, but Sam tried quickly to memorize them. Words were easy but physical actions were another matter. Trying valiantly to mimic what little he could take in drew laughter and more comments of ridicule from his would-be teammates. His face turned redder the more he tried.

“Give her a chance, ladies,” Jess implored. “C'mon, Lynnie, I know you can do it!”

“Jess, she looks like a crane trying to fly with a broken wing. It's hopeless. We need her in the squad like cast iron pom-poms,” Helen piped up again.

“Hells, you know as well as I do that, when you first tried out, you smacked Jenny Mitchell so hard in the kisser while trying to do a backflip that she needed dental work. The whole school thought Mike McKinley was knocking her around!” Jess retorted, hands firmly on her hips, loudly so everyone could hear. Sam smiled quietly to himself.

“That was an accident! I tripped up!” Helen protested.

“Were the other ten tries all accidents as well?” a red-haired girl chipped in.

“Shut up, Rachel!” Helen spat back.

“Ladies, chill out,” Jess separated them before they started coming to blows. “We all have our faults. I'm asking that we give Lynnie here a chance to grow.”

“Well, she certainly doesn't need any help with that,” Helen added snidely, “Girl's so tall I swear King Kong's standing on her forehead, swatting down biplanes.”

“As a performer. A chance to grow as a performer,” Jess finished. “Now, everyone, be quiet. Go on, Lynnie!”

Sam gingerly stepped into the spotlight, feeling rather silly. Indeed, the color of his face at this moment began to match the color of his skirt (which he was repeatedly tugging down). As he prepared for the worst, he couldn't help wondering where Al was. He doesn't usually miss these ritual humiliations.

“Admiral,” Lindsey stood up straight. Having a father (Maj. Ben Anderson US Army) and a brother (Sgt. Peter Anderson US Army) in the military taught her to respect the ranks even if she disagreed with their actions privately. She echoed her father's thoughts that they were the pawns of overpaid senators and other officials.

“I told you, there's no need,” Al replied kindly as he entered the Waiting Room. “We're very relaxed with all that around here.”

“Will I be here much longer, sir?” she asked. “Has my information been useful enough?”

“We're still analyzing all the data you've provided but, yes, gold star. Go to the top of the class,” he smiled. Al had done many things to get information from Sam's many hosts. Some he even dared to tell the truth to, not that they remembered anything or that anyone would believe them on their return. Lindsey had been well-trained by her father not to crack under pressure during this situation. Still, Al pulled rank and assured her that it would help her family and guaranteed promotions for her cooperation. They were due to be kicked upwards in 1977 and 1978, respectively, anyway, so where's the harm in releasing a little early info, he thought.

“Good,” she said, grinning as she sat on the bed. “Could I do some schoolwork in here?”

“Year's over. Relax a little. That's an order.”

“I dig that but there's zero to do and I like to be occupied, sir. Could I perhaps go outside later?” she asked.

“We can't risk anyone knowing the whereabouts of this base, Miss Anderson,” Al replied coldly. “How about I try and find you some books to read?”

“That would be swell,” she smiled, brushing her hair behind her ears. The action seemed so natural and routine to her but Sam Beckett's short locks barely moved. “Would it also be possible for me to return home for the dance tomorrow?” Al stopped in his tracks.

“Uh, that might be a smidgen difficult, sweetie pie,” he replied, standing still.

“Why? I've completed all the tests. Once I've helped you sufficiently, I have every right to demand my release,” she continued, raising her voice.

“I feel that, at this point, we can't let you go,” he turned around solemnly, trying to play the officer.

“Can't or won't!” she demanded.

“If I had any say about it, you'd be back right this second dressed head to toe in Gucci with a pair of the finest Blahniks over your toes!”

“I don't know what that means, sir, but it sounds nice. My friend Jess says I should go but I don't really think I'll enjoy it.”

“You would be the belle of the ball,” Al smiled, walking out the door and leaving Lindsey hastily writing on a legal pad he had given her earlier that day to keep herself occupied.

“How will it affect my future?” she asked innocently.

“Not one cent,” Al replied.

“But it must. The information I gave here will do something regardless of who gave it. It's simple cause and effect.”

“Your future is what you make of it, sweetie. Nobody can tell you how to live. Do you think I was born into the big brass? I fought and scrapped my way through. Back in the Fifties, I was even up on a murder charge. It's like this..." He picked an apple from the table beside her. “This could've been shaped through any condition, grown in an orchard in Spain or a field in England, and surviving all weather conditions. As it happens, one of our tech guys grows them back in Idaho but then who knows what will happen to it next. I mean, sure, this one's heading for your intestines but it could be… uh… the main ingredient of a pie or a vital part of an experiment like the one that fell on Newton's head or even crushed into a glass of Vodka and Appletize, a fine drink to sip on a hot summers night. Believe me,” he smiled.

“If I'm honest, Admiral, that's a semi-coherent metaphor at best but I got the sentiment. Thank you, sir,” she smiled back.

“And remember to wear one more often,” Al added, heading towards the exit again.

Sam collapsed onto a bench with sweat pouring down his forehead.

“Quite a practice, huh." Jess sat beside him, sweat barely showing. Sam nodded and tried to speak.

“Water,” he croaked. “Do you have…”

“The fountain in the hallway is working again.”

“A bottle. Do you have a bottle of something in your bag?”

“Who carries bottled water around in their bags?” Jess asked.

Sam cursed himself for forgetting when he was once again.

“That would be a cool idea, though,” she mused, “I hate having to go to the fountain. You never know who's been drinking there. Perhaps I'll start bringing bottled water next year. Thanks, Lynnie!”

“You don't seem out of breath at all,” Sam added, regaining some of his vocal cords.

“I had a drink.”

“Where? I thought you just said you dislike using the fountain?”

“Refreshment is refreshment,” she replied. “Ooh, I should write that down. That's good. Did I tell you I have an uncle in the ad business? C'mon, let's get you to the showers, Miss Sweaty. We need to be completely fresh and smelling sweeter than sweet for the dance." She took Sam's arm and dragged him, staggering, toward the changing rooms.

“Admiral?”

“Willie.”

“Are you going to check in with Dr. Beckett soon?”

Willie, a thin youth wearing mechanics overalls under a grubby lab coat and a red baseball cap, stopped Al as he walked down the hallway.

“In about half an hour. Why?”

“Are you going to tell him about the host? I really think you should.”

“She has a name, Willie, and keep those greased-up paws away from me. I am going to a dance,” he smiled, straightening up the bow tie of his smart tuxedo. “And I'm not going to tell him. It doesn't affect him or the mission in any way so I don't think he needs to know.”

“How can it not? I've not worked here for very long and don't get much of this time stuff. Computers I get. But all the timelines and past and future, it's just too Twilight Zone for me.”

“Let me put it this way: it would affect what we're doing now. We shouldn't try to change her future, as much as it galls me, and, if Dr. Beckett knows, he would not be able to focus on the mission at hand, which is saving Jessica Langley. Sam has all the information he needs. Details like this would fudge the issue and we need him to always play his A game,” Al explained.

“If you believe that's right, Admiral, you know more about these things than me,” Willie replied, sounding like he still thought Al was wrong.

“And I do,” Al added a little smugly. “There's something you can help me with if you really wanna do something to help.”

“Whatever you need,” he replied.

“I want to give her a proper night, a real shindig. Sam will take her place at the dance all night, and she may recall some of it, but I want her to have something solid.”

“She'll have the prom next year,” Willie replied.

“Did you read what happened? She gets screwed around by that guy taking her, arrives with a torn dress, and spends most of the night on her own, memorable, sure but for all the wrong reasons. Now, I want to do this right when I return from Sam. Can you set up the Waiting Room with some disco lights, glitter balls, and stuff?”

“What's a glitter ball?” he asked.

“Read your history books, kid. I suppose you haven't got any records either.”

“Records, what records? I can get our logs and personnel files, is that it?”

Al sighed. “Proper records on vinyl and nothing later than '76. No hip-hop or Britney or anything like that. Try Queen, Beatles, Stones, Kiss, Kool and The Gang.”

Willie still looked a little puzzled.

“Look it up, Willie. Speak to people if you're really bamboozled but just do it!” Al ordered.

“I won't let you down, Admiral." He saluted quickly and sped off in the opposite direction. Al took out his handlink, pushed a few buttons to ensure it worked properly, and forced it back into a small pocket.

“I guess Versace never made pockets big enough for handlinks. I should get my tailor to look into that,” he muttered while opening the Imaging Chamber door.

Several technicians suddenly appeared around him, making last-minute checks of every detail, including if his suit was compatible with the technology. A sticky situation arose a couple of leaps ago when the colors in a recently acquired jacket rendered his torso invisible to Sam. The precision of a rocket launch surrounded each trip back into the past, although that didn't mean they weren't rewarded sufficiently. Indeed, a night out was held each time Sam had a successful mission. It often took at least three days before they could relocate Sam, giving them enough time to sober up.

Al straightened his bow tie, un-creased his suit, readied the handlink, and prepared to face Sam again. As he stepped into the chamber, the 1970s unfolded before his eyes, literally. Each block slotted into place and pixelated itself into a living picture and one featuring Lindsey trying to squeeze herself into a tight dress. Within five seconds, her blonde hair and feminine body reshaped itself into the muscular physique and chiseled looks of Dr. Sam Beckett.

“Could you be, could you be, the most beautiful girl in the world…” Al sang. Lindsey's room looked rather bare but still academic, with some touches of her teenage crushes and favorites shining through with the odd poster and crumpled photograph stuck on the wall.

“No matter how many leaps I complete or women I meet, I can never master a bra,” Sam complained.

“Says the man who designed and built by hand the only time travel device known to man…”

“Yeah, I get the idea… aha,” Sam replied as Al heard a click. “Do you have any news for me?”

“Uh, yeah. It seems Jess never died from slashing her wrists after all. We managed to pull some of the records and statements from that time and it seems one of the detectives found shards of glass from a bottle of booze in and around the body. They dismissed it mainly because the place was dry as a bone and because she had her fair share of arguments that night. Anyone may have pushed her over the edge. The cops never found a knife or any other implement she could've used. Either she tripped into the glass, or someone else used it to do their dirty work.”

“I never believed she killed herself,” Sam added. “So, if I find that bottle, all I have to do is throw it in the trash and I leap?”

“On the surface, yeah,” Al replied. “But if you believe that only one bottle of hooch made it into that dance then you're mistaken. I bet they just never found any more. It would be best if you found the root, too. Sam, that root needs to be dug out and destroyed or the event will only happen again at another time and in another variation.

Sam set about preparing himself with ease. Several times, he had to adapt to life as a woman, which taught him to dress appropriately and wear makeup with a degree of competence. As he started, Al casually reminded him that Lindsey had rarely been so confident with her cosmetics so he begrudgingly wiped most of it off. 

“Perfect, a nice natural look,” Al commented. “So, what's the plan for tonight?”

“Alan's picking me up in five minutes and I'm meeting everybody else there. I guess I'll just have to play it by ear. Find Jess and stick with her.”

“Don't forget your date, too. That nozzle could still have something to do with it. Don't let him out of your sight!” he added.

“Al, do you think I can change him in any way? I mean, is it even worth trying? We've tried to do this before.”

“Human nature, Sam. He's a killer and that's the end of it.”

“But if I talked to him, tried to find out about his problems, cares, worries, and family. Maybe show him some…”

“You gonna go all the way with this guy on a hunch it will prevent ten years worth of murderous rampage?” Al nodded slyly. “Give up now, Sam. There's no guarantee it'll work and I don't see you stripping to your skimpies just to let him slime all over you. Remember, we don't know what set it off and you're here for Jess.”

“What's in the original history?” Sam asked.

Al pushed the required buttons on the handlink. “You changed the original history by agreeing to the date so the timelines are a little floopy right now, but the early word is that Lindsey gives him the heave-ho a few days after the dance. The police received a report of harassment from the Andersons nearly a month later. A quickie will only make things worse.”

“I have to try.”

“And that's what I admire about you, Sam. You will try and, who knows, maybe you'll come up with the solution. And I hope so,” Al replied as Sam busied himself preparing.

“Something going on back at the project?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“You're dressed very sharp. Is that you're James Bond tux?”

“Ripped from Sean Connery right to my very hips. It's for the dance and I thought I should look my best.”

“Al, no one can see you but me.”

“Invisibility shouldn't be a reason for dressing down, Sam, but, as it happens, I do have a little something I have to get back for,” Al replied indignantly.

“Taking Beth out to a party? Some kind of anniversary?” Sam added, applying the merest hint of lipstick.

“Just a birthday party. Nothing special.”

“I know you and you wouldn't break out that suit for a small party. Whose is it?” Sam asked. Suddenly, a horn could be heard from outside the house. “That has to be Alan,” he sighed. “How long are you around for?”

“As long as you want me,” Al replied confidently.

“Check on Jess for me, will you,” Sam asked.

“Will do,” Al punched the pad again and disappeared just before Sam raced downstairs to begin his evening.

PART FOUR

Alan pulled up outside the house in a blue 1960 Buick. His suit was new, bought earlier that day from a thrift store in town, but about five years older than his car. The styles of the day disgusted him with their garish colors and improperly elongated areas of garments. Quietly, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as his date took her time. Women were always so concerned about appearances, especially today's girls, and it seemed improper to him. If you arrange to meet somewhere at a particular time, you should plan your day hours accordingly. He turned his attention to his portable radio sitting on the back seat, turning the dial and trying to refine the various portions of crackle. For some reason, he could always set the local station perfectly but he did not like the local station playing the so-called hits of today. Just noise to him. The new bands had nothing on Rock and Roll. A station out west was dedicated to it but every time Alan tuned in, he could barely hear the songs over the crackles and hisses of his awful reception. Halfway through a scarcely audible airplay of Jackie Wilson's Reet Petite, he gave up and switched the damn thing off. He checked his side mirror and saw Lindsey emerge from the house, her gawky frame squeezed into a tight dress. The perfect mix of brains and beauty, he thought, wrapped into one and poured into an outfit that showed you some but teased you into wanting more. As he pushed the car door open, he thought she would look stunning as a flapper. As he got out to properly open the door for her, she promptly collapsed into the seat with the demeanor of a man who had just run a couple of miles.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized. “It was the, uh, shoes. I couldn't find a pair that matched the dress.”

“That's acceptable,” he smiled back and nodded, although, at the same time, he noticed that she was sweating and her seating position was very unladylike. As if reading his thoughts, she realized her mistake and corrected herself. “There is a flower in the glove compartment, a white lily, and I'd like you to wear it as we enter.”

She opened the hatch, took out the flower calmly, and tried to place it in the top of her dress like a man would a buttonhole.

“I'd like you to wear it in your hair if you would be so kind, please,” he added.

She laughed, blushed a little, and fixed the flower roughly into her hair.

“When my father first took my dear mother out, he gave her a flower as a token of his affection. She immediately placed it in her hair, thus bringing out her playful side. From then on, it was kismet. They drove out to the Almamba Dance Hall near Heathcote and proceeded to dance the night away,” Alan continued as they drove away, keeping at a steady speed, en route to the school.

“Are both your parents still alive?” she suddenly asked him.

Alan thought it was an odd question for a first date but, in his experience, women do say the strangest things sometimes.

“Yes, they are, thank you for asking. They're both in the rudest of health,” he replied, cold but gentlemanly.

“Oh, that's good. For you. For you, it's good... and for us. I knew this guy at one time who lost his mother and it sent him a little crazy, made him want to hurt people,” she added.

“I've never heard that story. I'm sure I would have in such a small town,” Alan replied, puzzled.

“He, uh, ran a motel out, way out there. I once stayed there. Norman was his name, I think.”

“This is all so familiar. Was the man's surname Bates by any chance? It reminds me of a film.”

She blushed a little. “Norman Myers, I think.”

“Psycho. That's the film. One of the best made." His eyes lit up. “The twists and turns it took. Mr Hitchcock is truly a master of storytelling. I would love to write a thriller one day. I already have a villain in mind.”

“I bet you do,” she said rather harshly.

It hurt Alan's feelings a little. He felt his heart drop. Perhaps he had said too much and let his passions get the better of him. They started to near the school but something distracted Lindsey. She appeared to be talking to herself while searching in her handbag for something. She muttered something about keeping an eye on someone under her breath.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Just some, uh, gum,” she replied.

“Must you?” he said in a disgusted tone. Women who chewed gum were as bad as those who deliberately paraded their body parts for all to see in so-called clothes. “I think it's rather disgusting.”

“Oh, then consider me gum-free,” she smiled, closing her bag.

Alan smiled too. The date appeared to be going well so far. He was a little shocked she hadn't joined in his enthusiasm for Alfred Hitchcock films, as he had heard around school that she was pretty knowledgeable. Jessica Langley's influence, no doubt. She was the reason that Lindsey was dressed the way she was tonight. It would look too cheap on other girls but he knew she had a brain inside her attractive frame. Unless Jessica turned her into a cheap double of herself in the years to come. She would have to be stopped from trampling over such a delicate flower and fierce individual and he was just the man to guide her in the right direction. He smiled to himself; Mr Hood's parking spot was free. He thought, This would be a great night, as he pulled the car in through the school gates and into the awaiting space.

Sam hated walking into a packed room, especially school dances, as he was used to being alone. Everyone else would run towards their group of friends, cliques, or even an awaiting partner while he was left standing on the borders like a stray dog. He seemed to share this trait with Alan, who joined him in standing stock still at the entrance, clasping his clammy hand as tight as possible. As the various arrivals began to push their way through, the odd couple wandered over to the sidelines to a row of grey plastic chairs stretched around the hall, containing all the friendless hordes and people tired from the dancing already.

“Would you like some punch?” Alan asked as Sam sat down.

“Just some orange juice,” Sam replied, getting back up.

“No, stay here. The man should always get the drinks. You've done you're part by sitting here looking fabulous,” he replied.

“In an age of feminism, I find that remark offensive,” Sam replied haughtily.

“I thought you were more intelligent than to buy into all that hogwash, Lindsey Anderson. Truly powerful women wouldn't need any so-called movement to tell them how to act. They just are who they are.”

“I think I will have some punch after all,” Sam said through gritted teeth. Alan made a little sense in a strange, twisted way but he wasn't about to press the issue. His many leaps had taught him to pick his battles and this wasn't the time, not when the clock was against him. In a few hours, Jess would soon be dead.

The punch tasted like it had been made from fruit that had expired at least a month ago but there weren't any traces of alcohol in it, so it hadn't been spiked. The drink must've been brought into school another way. Iris found him within minutes of her arrival and was thrilled to be with her date. She couldn't stop talking about him and how much they had in common, even though he had just deserted her to chat with his little group.

“And Kenny loves M*A*SH too,” she continued. “That show really conflicts me. I mean, on the one hand, I want the war to stop and everyone to go home and be happy, just like our folks, but on the other, I really want the show to continue. I'm so conflicted.”

“I wouldn't worry about it. That show will be on for another seven years,” Sam added.

“I wish I had your faith. They're up to the fourth season now and the war only ran for about three years. Could you do that, though? Go into the Army and fight in a foreign country? I couldn't, not that the Army would have me anyway. For a start, I would have to do something about this limp,” Iris replied.

“What limp?” Sam replied.

“Haven't you noticed? Look at my right leg! Look! You see. My mom has some cream that will fix it. Have you heard of Taiwanese tree oil? It's the best.”

“Very useful for backrubs, too,” smiled Al, popping in beside them.

“Backrubs?” Sam repeated, caught a little off guard.

Iris blushed. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“A little candlelight, some Elvis on the stereo, mmm,” Al smiled.

“Nothing,” Sam replied. “Just something. Forget I said it.”

“Tell me more,” she replied. “I like the sound of it.”

“Tell her, Sam,” Al coerced him. “Iris will be a great physical therapist and masseuse come the Nineties. Beth even visited her a couple of times for her leg.”

“Uh, maybe later,” Sam replied, blushing a little.

“Do you have gum? I forgot mine,” Iris asked. “Oh, you don't, do you. I should give up. I'm so afraid of swallowing it and creating like this large gumball in my throat and not letting any food get past it, so I'll go hungry… but I love the minty taste. Perhaps I should take up smoking. My mom says it would calm me down.”

“Stick with the gum. Trust me, it's healthier,” advised Sam.

“Of course, of course, I have some in my locker. I'll be two seconds,” she exclaimed before getting up and leaving, also passing her date briefly, who was still talking to his friends.

“I don't know about you but the only word I caught of that was gum. She has a mouth permanently set to fast forward, right?” Al mused, taking Iris seat by Sam's side.

“Anything new on the horizon?” Sam asked, starting to root through Lindsey's bag.

“Nada. What are you looking for now?”

“An excuse not to look like a lunatic,” Sam replied under his breath.

“Okay, well, Mr. Langley seems to be on his best behavior over there in the corner but I've hardly seen Jess speak to anybody apart from her fellow Laker Girls over… Hey, where'd she go?”

“You lost her!” Sam whispered angrily.

“You have a pair of eyes, too, Sam,” Al replied.

“That's Observer's work. I get into trouble, remember,” he added. “I'll go search the hall, and you…”

“Center me on Jess!” Al cried out, disappearing within the blink of an eye.

At that moment, Jess Langley walked the halls wearing a long blue dress and some subtle jewellery items.

“Eye-line!” she called out upon seeing Iris standing by her locker.

“What do you want?” Iris asked. “Want some gum? It's mint.”

“Something a little stronger, thank you,” she smiled back. “Where is that item I gave you for safekeeping last week?”

“Still here. I can't believe I haven't been found out. I feel so bad. I've been nauseous every day,” she said, sounding regretful but a little wired. “I mean, sneaking alcohol into school, it's… it's against the rules, isn't it.”

“Eye-line, it's just a bottle of drink. You won't have Steve McGarrett bust down your door in the dead of night. You can be so annoying at times!”

“So why did you ask me to look after it? Why not one of your teammates,” Iris asked quietly.

“I thought I'd give you a chance to prove yourself.”

“Prove myself? Why?” Iris asked, gingerly twisting her key into the lock.

“Next year, Lynnies going to be moving up a step and I don't want you left behind,” Jess smiled, her eyes focused on the lock.

“You don't?”

“I don't. I'd like to see you ascend with her but my friends and the rest of the squad need to know you can be trusted.”

“I can be trusted. I want to be part of the gang. You will tell them about this, won't you?” She opened her locker and carefully moved a few books out of the way. A large bottle of Vodka stood behind a rolled-up map of America, used in a recent project where Iris tried to find an acronym for all the States. Jess pulled it out, almost clipping Iris on the chin in her haste.

“They'll know all about this, I assure you. Eye-line, you'll be known forever as the girl who turned this dreary old two-step into the most memorable night in Tyler Highs history.” She grinned from ear to ear.

“What do you mean?” Iris started to follow Jess back to the hall.

“Ugh, you ask too many questions. What do I mean? I mean that this will be relocated into the punch bowl,” she explained.

“Oh, that sounds kinda wrong.”

“You tell anyone about this and next year your life won't be worth the cheap label on this bottle. Your choice, Eye-line. Legend or loser!” Jess snapped back. As the two girls walked by, continuing their argument, Al stepped out from inside the locker next to Iris' and took a long drag on his cigar. Things were beginning to make some sense at last.  

A distraught Iris rejoined Sam in the dance hall. Wringing her hands together, she collapsed into her seat and hunched over.

“Hey, what's wrong?” Sam asked.

“I didn't mean to do it. She said that if I... I... she said I would... and I didn't want to, but I guess I sorta did, but not in this way…” she started jabbering.

“Sam, you have to get to Jess, pronto!” Al appeared beside them.

“We still have 45 minutes,” Sam said quietly out of the corner of his mouth. “Iris needs help at the moment. I think somethings happened but I'm not sure what.”

“They're connected, trust me. It wasn't Mr. Langley at all. Iris brought a bottle of Vodka into school and hid it inside her locker. I've just seen her give it to Jess.”

“You brought Vodka into school?” Sam asked Iris, shaking her gently by the shoulders. “Why?”

“You know? But how? Oh dear, you saw it, didn't you? She's going to put it into the punch to liven the place up a bit. That's what she said anyway.”

“It's only going in the punch?” Sam looked at Al.

“No, it's not,” he replied sternly. “If that were true, she would have been here minutes ago.”

“She said that once you were popular, you wouldn't wanna know me anymore so I had to do her this favor so that she would keep me around." Iris sniffed, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Listen to me, Iris, no one is leaving anybody. I'll always be here watching out for you. Now, you won't need Jess or anyone else's permission to hang out, okay!”

Iris nodded and smiled. Kenny, her date, came running over with a camera still attached to his neck.

“Why the boohoos?” he asked. Sam looked around for Al, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Can you stay with her?” Sam asked Kenny, “I gotta go find Jess.”

“Sure thing, man,” Kenny replied. He waited a few moments for Sam to leave then bent down on one knee and started taking shots of Iris.

“That's great, sweets — real sadness, darkness even, but with a pinch of hope and light. I can use this for my next project,” he smiled.

Only when Iris head fell into her hands, and the gentle tears became floods, did he realize where his proper place should be. He leaped into Sam's seat and embraced his date. Before the night was out, he hoped they would kiss.

Sam shot into the corridor, his head looking in all directions, trying to decide which way to go.

“Down there,” Al appeared in front of him, waving.

“It should have clicked, Al. I saw empty bottles at her place. It should've clicked, then. I thought they were her father's,” Sam said regretfully.

“For all you know, they could've been. He was, or is, an alcoholic. I guess he passed that fun gene down to his darling daughter. She's probably been sneaking a swig every chance she gets ever since that first taste.”

The lockers' rows started to look familiar after a couple of minutes. Luckily, both had made a mental note of where Jess' death occurred just in case they couldn't prevent it beforehand. Reaching a little area, they found the floor to be clean.

“We're early, thank God,” Sam said hoarsely, a little out of breath. “So where's Jess now?”

“Lynieeeee! Woooo!” a scream shot out.

“Uh, up there, completely steamed!” Al said, looking upwards to find the source.

          The room consisted of a small-enclosed area that used to be a general meeting area for staff and students alike. Two staircases bookended the little niche: one leading up to the Science labs and the other to the basement. The niche would become a more central area for students when vending machines and a water cooler were installed during the late 1980s. Still, for now, the only drink in the room was being held by Jess Langley, who was currently straddling the up staircase, legs akimbo, like a little child playing.

“Ever slide down the banisters at your place, Lynnie?” she slurred, spitting everywhere unintentionally. “Hey! Pay 'tension!" A drizzle of Vodka splashed into Sam's face, which he quickly spat out.

“Come down from there!” Sam ordered, wiping his wet face with the sleeve of his dress.

“You come ride with me. It'll be funny,” she laughed.

“Sam, it's nearly nine!” Al warned.

“If I come up there, will you come down here?”

“Come on dooown! The Price is Right! Up. Come on up! The Price is Wrong!” she giggled in response, tilting her head back.

“Sam, it looks like our mystery man is here.” Al spotted a shadowy figure at the top of the stairs.

“Jessica Elizabeth Langley, what in the blazes do you think you're up to!” Stephen thundered.

The young woman was so surprised that she craned her neck back too far, causing her to fall off the banister. Sam had been hovering underneath, knowing she could fall at any moment, and was in a perfect position to break her fall. He had almost been willing her to tumble just to get it over with. Gingerly, he held out his hands, the action seeming to be played in slow motion for him alone. Unfortunately for him, Jess fall was not the most perfect tumble. Her head hit his shoulder, knocking him backward and onto the floor while her butt smacked down on his left leg. Usually, he would have been able to catch her with no problem but he had failed to consider Lindsey's skinniness and low body fat. Al seemed to be happy, though.

“Good one, Sam. Yogi Berra couldn't have made a better catch than that!”

A moment passed before he noticed that the wall behind him was dripping wet and his shoes (or where they would be if he had a physical presence) were covered in glass. As Jess had fallen, she had thrown the bottle straight at him.

“Sam, did you see that? If I had been here, I mean here, that would've given me a belly full of glass, that's for sure!”

Sam groaned as he lay on the floor.

“You alright, buddy?” Al asked.

“I think so.”

“Don't worry. Lindsey's a fast healer. She feels sore for a few days but she'll be right as rain by the end of the week.”

“Good for her,” mumbled Sam dryly.

“Just look at the two of you! Drinking liquor and making fools of yourselves!” Stephen Langley fumed at the girls as he stormed down the stairs.

“Uh oh, times up. Sam, I gotta go,” Al called out.

“Wait!” Sam outstretched his arm but the Observer had disappeared into the ether.

“Do you have something to say to me, Lindsey Anderson!” Stephen replied as he helped them both to their feet. “Don't try to deny your part in all this either. I can see that drink all over you. You're covered in it. I can just picture the two of you chugging it down like a couple of hobos outside a frat party instead of the young ladies you should be maturing into. I'm disgusted!”

“Mr. Langley, you have every right to be,” Sam retorted as Jess collapsed back onto the floor, laughing like a hyena. “But I just saved your daughter's life and I swear I never touched a drop of that liquor!”

“She right,” Jess piped up. “Lynnie's no fun anymore. You want cheer… no cheer,” she pouted. “Fun sucker, you suck the fun out. But you - you're comfortable… nice and warm.”

“I hope you're telling the truth, Lindsey Anderson. I'll find out when this one sobers up but I guess you did save her all the same. Thank you. Now I have to get her back home. Can I drop you off anywhere?”

“No, thank you. My, er, date's still in there waiting for me,” Sam replied as they both took Jesss weight.

“Where's the creepy man, the guy?” Jess mumbled through her dribbles.

“What guy?”

“Tuxedo, cigar.”

Had she seen Al? Even for a moment, Sam wondered.

“I hit him with my bottle. I killed him,” she continued.

“Who is this man?” Stephen asked.

“I don't know,” Sam replied. “Sounds like one of the teachers... a noisy little guy, teaches history.”

“Mr. Benton?”

“Maybe. Anyway, he's gone now so he must be okay. That's a mess, though.” Sam looked at the wall.

“Oh, leave it. It'll give the Janitor something to do,” Stephen replied, still supporting his giggling daughter as they made their way to the car park.

After they had left, Janitor Bill Ryson emerged from the basement. He was supposed to be chaperoning the dance and clearing up the mess from it as he went along. A pre-emptive strike, as he called it. Still, instead, he had decided to hole up in the basement with a six-pack of beer he had confiscated from several members of the Football team and a Stephen King novel. Upon hearing the crash, he reluctantly got up to discover the cause. Give the Janitor something to do, huh, he thought to himself as he surveyed the damage and retreated downstairs to get his mop, dustpan, and brush.  He took another swig of his beer before he meandered back upstairs. He remained blissfully unaware that he had just been saved from the task of cleaning up something altogether more gruesome.

PART FIVE

As soon as he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber, Al Calavicci was in a rush. Quickly, he ran into his office and busied himself straightening up his tuxedo, making sure every angle was straight and crisp as his many years in the armed forces had taught him to do. His thinning hair was slicked back using some gel and a small splash of aftershave washed away the effects of any sweating he had done during the past hour. Opening a drawer in his desk, he took out a small red rose and made a beeline for the door, pausing momentarily to look at his reflection in the mirror on the wall. There's no way she'll be able to resist, he thought.

The music played loudly, hits from the 1960s and 70s (although nothing beyond 1976). The Waiting Room was decorated in a very High School Prom style. A grinning Sam Beckett sat on a chair in the center. Except it was the mind and soul of Lindsey Anderson, a seventies girl and Jackson 5 fan, singing along to A, B, C.

“Somebody seems to be enjoying herself,” Al smiled as he watched through the window.

“Everything's set up just the way you wanted, Admiral,” Willie replied, standing beside him. “I still don't see it. It's like a freakshow in there, flashy colors, and terrible music.”

“Got a girlfriend or partner, Wille?”

“No, Admiral.”

“I'm not surprised. You tech guys have no poetry in your souls, no fire in your belly. Sure, you can strip apart a machine and reconnect it in under a half-hour, but there's no love in there,” Al turned to him.

“I'm not sure what you mean, sir,” Willie looked puzzled.

“You, Willie, are the kind of guy who could make a perfect lasagna. Perfect in every way down to the odd spoonful of salt, just the right amount of tomato, and the exact physical representation of the recipe on the page. A more creative man, however, would put some herbs and spices in there or some garnish on top just for that extra flair or even to see what it tastes like,” Al said calmly, hoping to make some point to him. 

“I feel hungry now,” Willie replied. “And I still don't think this is worth it. Dr. Beckett could leap at any minute.”

“Dr. Beckett won't leap. I feel that this is part of the mission. I have a good feeling, 110%, that this is meant to be,” he said wistfully but determined.

“What if you're wrong? We deal with huge margins 98% of the time too.”

“If I'm wrong, let's just say well have some pretty funny pictures to show at the Christmas party,” Al smiled.

“But what if he does leap? What if you end up in there with a murderer again?”

“Then I hope he knows how to tango,” Al winked, straightened his bow tie, and waltzed into the Waiting Room.

“Admiral,” Lindsey smiled, giggling like a schoolgirl.

“How are you holding up, cutie?” he asked.

“This is all so super. I can't believe you did this for me. I do have a sharp pain in my back, though, right here,” she indicated, looking puzzled.

“That'll pass in time,” he smiled. “Willie, play something slow, please.”

“You remind me of Sean Connery, the one true James Bond. I love those spy adventures,” Lindsey added.

“I'm flattered,” Al said, taking her hands in his and starting the dance.

“I much prefer Sean to the new one, Roger something. Iris likes him, though. I still can't believe this is all for me. How can I thank you?”

“You've already done enough for me, kid,” he replied briefly.

As if by some strange cosmic alignment, the same song was playing in the school gym of Tyler High School several decades earlier. It struck the ears of Sam Beckett as he entered and started looking about for Lindsey's friends. They all seemed to disappear from the row he had left them. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Kenny taking pictures of a group of girls standing by the food table at the end of the room. He marched over with the grace of a Stormtrooper and tapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Where's Iris?” he asked.

“Hey, man... I mean woman... you're back,” Kenny grinned. “What did you do, fall in?”

“Fall in where?”

“The john in the girl's room. That's where you went, didn't you? I've had days like that, especially when a keg is around.”

Sam sniffed the air. “Are you stoned?”

“A little, just lit up in the hallway. You want some?”

“No, I don't, and you shouldn't either now. Where's Iris?” he demanded, pulling Kenny closer by his jacket lapels.

“Woah, chill out. I need i. It brings out my artistic edge and your boyfriend took her home anyway.”

“She left with Alan?”

“Yeah, man, looks like the dude's trying to have his cakes and eat them, too. Go, Alan. Look, if you two are into swapsies and all, I'm game. Three ways too,” he laughed. By now, the group of girls had disbanded onto the dance floor.

“You were supposed to be here with her. Why didn't you stop her?”

“I didn't wanna let her go. She's hot and all but she was sick… still sick... and wanted to go back home. The dude came over and volunteered to drive her. I can't drive so it was the best for her.”

Sam released Kenny and stormed off out the door. Perhaps Alan's first victim would be taken tonight after all. When he emerged into the cool night air, he called out for his Observer but his call went unanswered. Sam stepped onto the grass for a minute, waiting for a sign from Al or Iris home address to emerge from Lindsey's memory and flash up in front of him. She had never told him during the leap but Sam tried hard to connect to Lindsey's mind or the remains of it that were now merged with his own. He concentrated harder and harder. A couple of girls who just happened to be walking by remarked that he must be drunk and that they weren't surprised.  

A modicum of success struck him when the words "159 Acacia Avenue" flashed in his mind. They could be Iris address or practically anybody else's within the reaches of Lindsey's, or even his, memories. For all he knew, it could belong to an aunt of Katie McBains. He sighed, got up from the grass, unaware of the dirt that had attached itself to him, and once more marched back into the hall in search of Kenny. He found the boy taking a drink by the fountain.

“Suddenly, I'm thirsty,” he said, looking up and seeing Sam. “Hungry too. I'd kill for some fries right now.”

“There's a whole table of food inside. You were standing right by it ten minutes ago,” replied Sam through gritted teeth.

“Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “Dude, what a spaz I am.”

“Where does Iris live?”

“You should know. You're her best bud.”

“I just want to check that, you know, just in case of an emergency,” Sam said, knowing he was out on a limb but he would try anything.

“Oh, yeah, you can't be too careful. This one time my friend Mark came home, fell asleep and when he woke up his TV was gone. His window was smashed too. Aliens, man. Who knew? I think it has a one, a five, and a bird. Phoenix Place, number 15. Wow, how'd I know that? Oh, yeah, I live like two blocks away. Amazing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so, babe. I hope so.”

Sam didn't reply. He just shot out the door, looking for a taxi or street sign to indicate where he was. As he thought more and more about it, 159 Acacia Avenue was the address of Tommy Palmer, a college friend who had moved to Chicago in the summer of 1977.

“Admiral?” Lindsey asked, still held tightly by Al who felt a little insecure being this close to Sam. “Why is that man wearing such strange clothes?”

Al turned around to see Willie enter the room.

“He's just very weirdo,” Al explained.

“Admiral, Dr. Beckett is calling out for you again,” Willie breathlessly added.

“Who's Dr. Beckett?” Lindsey asked.

“One of the medical guys here,” Al replied as quickly as a whip.

“Is he any good?”

“The best. What's the problem this time, Willie?”

“We don't know, Admiral. That's why we need you to talk to him.”

“I'll be there in a minute. Now, shoo!” Al said. Willie soon hurried out of the room.

“I have to go help the Doc,” he said, turning to Lindsey.

“You said he's the best. Why does he need you?”

“Even the greatest need a little help from their friends at some point. If I go and do this, peaches, I don't know if I'll be back to see you go.”

“Why not? Aren't you going to discharge me personally?” She looked crestfallen.

“It's just the way it works, sweetie. It all links together in one big cosmic equation. I hope to be here when you leave, uh, get discharged but, if not, this is adios.”

“Then I won't leave without seeing you." She began to sob.

“You won't have a choice. Enjoy the rest of your life, kid.” Al walked towards the door. As soon as he got out, he ran to the Imaging Chamber.

“What do we know?” he asked.

“Not much,” Willie explained. “Dr. Beckett hasn't leaped yet. He just keeps calling for you. The last one came in two minutes ago. He left the High School too and it seems he's still on the move.”

“Right, get me in there now. Center me directly on Sam!” Al demanded.

He marched straight into the chamber and saw 1976 unfold before his eyes once more. The first sight he encountered was Sam sitting gloomily on a wall outside of a nondescript house in a residential area.

“You called,” Al said breezily.

“About half an hour ago,” replied Sam. “Where were you?”

“Uh, project business. I'm here now anyway. What's wrong?”

“Alan gave Iris a lift back home.”

“That worm! What happened? Is he still in there?” Al stared up at the windows.

“No, she's safe and sound. I guess he didn't start killing until college. It boils my blood, Al. I can't do anything about it. A serial killer is in my lap and I have to let him go. I can't say anything or do anything to change the future.”

“I know what you mean but, technically, he hasn't committed any crimes yet.”

“I thought you would be more understanding,” Sam looked up.

“I am. There are just certain things you're aware of when you know how it's all gonna turn out. I never liked it on TV and I don't like it in real life. I guess it's true what they say: a man should never know his future. No one can handle it.” Al sat next to Sam, falling through the wall, and lit a cigar.

“If that's true, what are we doing here trying to change it? Any thoughts on why I haven't leaped yet?” Sam continued. “Jess is safe, Iris is safe and, as far as I know, Lindsey's got a bright future ahead of her. What have I done wrong? What should I have done? Is something going to happen soon? I'm going out of my mind with worry.”

“I can tell you exactly what happens,” Al said soberly. “Iris marries Kenny. They have a couple kids and live happily ever after in Maine. He's happy taking snaps while she drifts from McJob to McJob after leaving school but finally becomes a physical therapist in the 90s. One of the best around.”

“She marries that guy?”

“Yeah, he becomes successful and is a changed man when they meet again at the reunion. Jess doesn't fare much better.”

“But surely her life has improved,” Sam asked.

“It doesn't look like it,” Al replied, tapping the handlink. “She does okay for a few years but then falls back into the drinking and this time it's worse; drugs are involved too. Jess seems to be looking for a high all her life, something to lift her above. She starts out as a waitress, then retrains as a cook, never marries, and eventually dies of an overdose in 1999. New Year's Eve, she was getting ready for the festivities and prepared too much.”

“So, I saved her just for her to die again.”

“Everybody dies, Sam.”

“I know that, Al! But usually, there's a purpose to it. They go and lead a better life or help others, and the chain goes on but I don't see it.”

“I guess we'll never know, just like Lindsey,” Al replied soberly.

“Why? What happened to Lindsey.”

“Alan kills her, Sam, at their ten-year reunion. Stabbed in the back of her neck with a 6-inch blade and left to die in the bathroom. Identical to his other slayings.”

“Did... did I do that? Did I change something?” Sam looked horrified.

“No, it was always on the cards,” Al replied solemnly.

“Well, we have to do something,” Sam stood up. “Can't we get him arrested?”

“For ten years? He hasn't committed a crime yet, Sam.”

“What about giving the police some hints about the first murder or just telling them to keep him under surveillance?”

“This is a small town in 1976. They don't buy all that Minority Report crap here.”

“What happened, Al? You're normally full of ideas?”

“I guess I just know too much,” he sighed. “Knowing someone else's future is just as galling as knowing your own. Lindsey dies for a reason; her body puts the cops on Alan's trail and puts him behind bars. Once they discovered her, it narrowed the field and they ran checks on everyone at that reunion and, suddenly, all the pieces started to fit like a jigsaw. I've run all the scenarios through Ziggy and, if we manage to save Lindsey, then at least four other women will die at his hands.”

“At least it makes sense." Sam looked up. “It means something and if it puts him in prison sooner than that must be a good thing. Four women are alive because of her. So, why does it feel so bad? And, come to think about it, why am I still here? She never even got to enjoy the dance. I'm here. I ruined it by saving the life of a juvenile wastrel for nothing!”

“She had her dance, Sam, trust me.” Al smiled.

“Perhaps there's something else I have to do." Sam sighed, standing up again and walking back down the road towards Lindsey's house.

“Are you wearing sneakers?” Al looked down at Sam's bright white shoes.

“I took these from Lindsey's locker. I couldn't wear those shoes any longer and these were easier for running in any way,” he explained. “They still pinch a little.”

He leaned down to rub his foot and felt a surge of pain rush through his body, causing him to collapse onto the pavement.      

“Sam? You OK?” Al asked, crouching down beside his friend.

The pain shot all over his body, from his fingers to his toes, but then it flattened out and turned into the warmer and more familiar feeling of leaping. A smile spread across his face as Sam closed his eyes and gave into it.

PART SIX

This time, it felt like he was traveling down a tunnel. The other side was blurry, like a newly painted picture someone had run their bicycle through. He could just see some trees and greenery. Perhaps a forest would be his next destination, in Wisconsin or somewhere. Suddenly, he started reversing, pulled back, and being thrown to another destination. He felt a sudden jerk to the left and then a massive drop as he fell through time.

Sam belly-flopped into his new body and slammed into a patch of grass. He groaned, looked up into the sky, and tried to sit upright. As he struggled up, suddenly a huge rush hit his head like a liquid cinder block containing a couple of liters of Vodka. Whoever this person was, they had been drinking a lot in the last few hours and poor Sam was left with the effects. His host was probably in an equal shape, though; a sudden sobering up must be a weird and somewhat fascinating experience. A young man loomed into view and tried to drag him up but Sam felt so bad and out of control that he just tried to fend him off.

“Jessie! Not again!”

Sam moaned. The name seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps it would help if he didn't have to over think the situation.

“Coffee, black, I need…” he continued.

“First sensible thing you've said so far. Let's get inside,” the man replied, helping him to his feet again, and Sam didn't refuse this time. He had to will himself. He had been in worse situations.

As they walked what seemed like the longest walk he had ever made, certain things appeared odd to Sam. The High School looked the same as the one he encountered on his last leap and it seemed to be playing the same music it had when he'd left. This had to be a different time, though. It just felt like it. Next, he started noticing the clothes of the various couples entering the auditorium. Some wore old tight-fitting dresses and suits while others wore newer clothes in a different style. Once inside the doors, Sam grabbed onto one of the walls to stop himself from falling.

“Jessie, Jess, you with me?” the young man was looking at him squarely in his eyes. Sam took a good, long look back and assessed him. A black-skinned man in his early 20s with high, square, black hair, built like a wall, and a scraggy mustache. His wide brown eyes made Sam feel he could trust him. The man's hands and thick red leather coat brushed against his arms.

“Yeah… here,” he replied.

“I just gotta go to the john. You stay here and I'll be right back,” he said reassuringly.

“Yo! Snarf! We in?” another man shouted from the toilets.

“Yeah, we in. Stay here, okay? I won't be long,” he told Sam who did what he was told (although more out of necessity). As soon as the man disappeared, he picked up Jessie's purse, which he had only just realized he was carrying, rummaged around, and pulled out a mirror. To his surprise, he saw the face of Jess Langley staring back, albeit more haggard than it was. She was heavily made-up, although most of it was smudged in one way or another. The thin streaks of mascara were now drying into her face, signifying she had been crying earlier, and her lipstick made the mistake of coming between her and a bottle. Some garish gold jewelry hung on her neck. Sam examined his dark blue dress, cut just above the knee in ragged edges covered in sequins and other sparkly bits. Plus, he was showing way too much cleavage. Sam tried to cover up but his flimsy clothing wouldn't allow it.

Unsteadily, he staggered towards the noise with the grace of a new-born foal and clutching his head. The dance hall was awash with bright lights and loud music. This was all too much for Sam, who felt his headache even more, but the one thing he couldn't miss was a large banner proclaiming a ten-year reunion for the class of 1977. Several couples pushed him from side to side in their haste to either get onto the dance floor or to the refreshment tables set up. He wisely decided to stumble back outside, unsteadily grabbing onto the wall to feel himself along. He managed to stumble back to his previous position and slumped down onto the floor into a heap. Burying his head in his hands, complete with bright pink nail polish on the fingers, he tried to make some sense of it all. Where was Al anyway? He should be here by now. There must be a reason why he had been shuffled ten years into the future and into Jess Langley's body, no less. His memories were muddled; years, missions, and people began to collide with one another. Jess had been in trouble before when he was… blonde girl… tall blonde girl… Long Tall Sally… she was killed... not then, killed later at a… thing, place, he couldn't remember. The reunion... here. It was going to happen her. If only he could think back...

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder that sent a shock rippling through his body.

“Can I help?” a cheery face looked down at him. The stranger stepped back and her face contorted into a strange angle.

“Jess, is that you?”

Sam nodded the one thing he could confirm, his head veering unevenly from side to side.

“Do you remember me? Lindsey Anderson?”

“Lindsey,” Sam repeated, staring her square in the eyes.

“Still taking the liquid lunches after all these years,” Lindsey sighed. “I gotta pee but I'll be back. We'll get some coffee and have a catch-up.”

As she disappeared into the toilet, the wheels of thought in Sam's brain suddenly sparked together and he sprang to his feet as quickly as he could, about as fast as a wounded Hippo. Unsteadily, he aimed himself like a human bomb into the nearest toilet door. Crashing through the blue entrance, he stared at the man who had accompanied him into the school.

“Jessie! What are you doing in here!” he demanded.

Even Sam's addled brain could detect that the two were snorting cocaine from the rims of the sink.

“Wossup, Snarf? Somethin'you ain't tellin' me 'bout your bitch here?" He grinned.

“Chill it, Teq!”

“Snarf?” Sam said, puzzled.

“Yeah, we call him that cos of the noise he makes when he scores,” said Teq, laughing.   

“You do drugs?” asked Sam.

“Huh, and you don't? I've heard all about your trips, little missy.”

“Don't listen to him, Jess. It's me, Darryl, remember? Darryl Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. I gotta go. Gotta find Lindsey,” Sam slurred and wandered back out the door.

“Man, she's wasted. Now, what you doin' with a junkie chick like that? She don't even know what day it is, I tell you. In fact, I bet she don't even know the hour of what day it is,” Teq ranted.

“Do you know what the time is, Teq? Without looking at that beat-up Casio on your wrist?” Darryl asked.

“About 7.30.”

“It's 8.09,” Darryl replied, consulting his watch.

“So, its 8.09. What does that prove?”

“So, you don't even know what hour it is.”

“Yeah, man, but I'm hoarding a couple of fine snowballs up my nose,” Teq laughed.

“Well, this the last time for me.”

“You mean it this time? Naw, I don't believe ya.”

“I do, bro. One more sniff for the road and, tomorrow, I'm up on the wagon,” said Darryl defiantly.

“Goody for you!” Teq replied. “This shit'll fuck you up,” he added, bending down and hoovering the rest of the powder up.

Sam Beckett swept himself into the female bathroom this time with determination and stopped only to free his dress from the door when it slammed abruptly behind him.

“Lindsey!” he cried out. “Lindsey!”

The woman emerged from one of the cubicles, looking a little pissed.

“What is it, Jess? I said I'll be back soon.”

“I have to warn you,” Sam continued. “Something I had to tell you… I forget now.”

“Let's get some coffee first.” Lindsey smiled. “Last I heard, you were working in New York. How's that going?”

“I don't know. I know nothing except what I have to tell you,” He grabbed her by the shoulders.

“The thing you can't remember.”

“I can't.”

“Come on. Let's sit down, get a drink, and talk it over. I'm sure it's not a matter of life and death,” Lindsey added, taking his hand and leading him outside.

“Life or death, that's it!” Sam's face lit up. “It's you, your death!”

“Jess, stop it!”

“I need to tell you!”

“Coffee first,” Lindsey replied.

“It's tonight, tonight you… ughhh,” Sam collapsed onto the floor again, his head swimming, but he knew the feeling of a leap by now.

Whoever put him in these places had now decided to rip him out at the vital moment. Lindsey would still die but four more would live. He had to console himself with that but why give him the chance? It would mean something. That much he knew but he could no longer think as his mind and body became enveloped by electricity, carrying him whole and taking him to a new place and time where a fresh challenge awaited.

EPILOGUE

         Sam Beckett was always uncertain of where he would wind up next. However, that was a known consequence of Quantum Leaping, bouncing about in time putting things right that once went wrong. There were countless Leaps that had already happened, and likely countless more before Sam finally Leaped home.

         Sam was unsure sometimes about how he felt about this. It was exhilarating, knowing that he had saved someone’s life from being miserable, or possibly from ending. But on the other hand, the always-changing time canyon served as a barrier between everything he wanted to return to. The only constant was Al, Sam’s closest friend and the Project Observer, who served as Sam’s window to the world. 

         Sam shook the longing off as he came to his senses. The bright light faded, and Sam found himself standing on a rock in a pool of sea lions. He was holding out a sardine, which the sea lion was eagerly dancing in the water for. Sam glanced up at the surrounding area outside the sea lion pool, and about fifty curious eyes were transfixed on him.

Dead silence. The sea lion stared expectantly. So did the audience. One man in the back coughed out the word “loser.” Sam had no idea what he was supposed to do.

         “Oh, boy.”