Author's note and disclaimer: I acknowledge that Quantum Leap and its original characters belong to Donald Bellisario. The town referred to is fictional. I have spell-checked, but the eight-year-old's diary is meant to be badly spelled!

Lord, Remember Me

Chapter 1

Disoriented from his latest leap, Sam gazed around at his surroundings. He found himself sat in the front row of what appeared to be an elementary school classroom. A middle-aged, female teacher was leaning against her desk and reading from a storybook and the room was full of boys and girls whom Sam guessed to be aged around nine. Still a little dazed, he was startled when a tough-looking boy hissed at him, "What are you looking at?" Sam realised his blank gaze must have hovered on this one boy a little too long and he quickly looked back at the teacher.

"What's the problem, Daniel?" the teacher asked, directing her question at the other boy.

"Zach was looking at me."

"Zach, is there a problem?" This time the question was to Sam.

He felt the eyes of the entire class trained on him, and replied quietly, "No, Ma'am," before fixing his stare firmly on his desk. The last thing Sam wanted was to draw attention to himself. He was already beginning to wonder how he was going to survive the school day without doing anything that could make life difficult for Zach. It would be all too easy to accidentally alienate him from his friends, or turn him into a math genius for a day, before leaping out and leaving Zach to face the consequences.

The shrill noise of the school bell startled him from his thoughts. As the children tumbled en masse towards freedom, Sam noticed the clock above the door that indicated it was the end of the school day. "Saved by the bell," he whispered under his breath and he headed for the door.

"Zach, you need to take your math books home with you. You have homework." Sam turned and stared dumbly at the teacher as she spoke. She must have sensed his uncertainty, and she crossed to Zach's desk and pulled out the required books. "Can you remember what you need to do?" she asked.

Instinctively wanting to please the teacher and avoid trouble, Sam pondered for a moment whether to say he did know, and then try to figure out what to do later. But sensing that she seemed sympathetic rather than impatient with him, and not wanting to cause Zach problems by not completing the homework, he shook his head. She opened one of the books and marked the homework questions with a pencil. "Just do the questions that have a tick by them, OK, Zach?"

Sam nodded and took the books from her. "Thank you," he said, and headed again for the door.

"Zach." Her voice stopped Sam again and he turned to face her. "Is everything OK at home?"

I haven't a clue, thought Sam, but feeling forced to answer, he gave a slight nod.

She smiled at him, but Sam thought he detected sadness in the smile. "OK, Zach. Off you go. Don't miss the bus!" he heard her add as he finally escaped from the room.

Sam realised he needed to hurry if he was to catch the bus in time, not to mention figure out which bus it was he needed to catch. As he made his way quickly down the corridor in the general direction that the other stragglers seemed to be going, he noticed the boys' bathroom on the left and his curiosity about his appearance got the better of him. He ducked out of the flow and pushed the door open in search of a mirror.

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"Oh, boy!" Sam whispered. He had intended to take just a quick glance in the mirror, before dashing off for the bus, but the pitiful child that stared back at him begged further attention. Zach appeared smaller than the other children in his class. His dark hair was unkempt and his clothes were plain, devoid of any fashion and not recently washed. Sam had already noticed that he smelled stale and now he could see why. He took a moment to consider the life this poor child must lead and silently said a quick prayer that somehow he would be able to help, before the urgency to catch the bus resurfaced and he quickly slipped back into the corridor.

There was no longer a moving tide of children indicating an obvious route to the buses and Sam felt too intimidated by his appearance to ask directions of any remaining children that he passed. He hoped that by following the corridor in the same direction as before, he would find his way out.

Reaching the main doors and sight of the yellow buses lined up outside, Sam felt momentarily relieved until he noticed that one of the buses was pulling away. In desperation, he broke into a run, still unsure which bus to aim for.

Moments later, he was sprawled out on the concrete, knees and palms skinned and kids snickering from all directions. Slowly and painfully, he gathered his books together and stood upright. Another bus had pulled away and he would have panicked, but for the familiar figure calling his name and beckoning frantically at him.

"Over here, Sam. It's this bus. Quickly! You tripped. Are you OK?" Al's statements tumbled out and Sam rushed over and smiled gratefully at him before tapping on the bus door and looking apologetically through the glass. The driver opened the door and looked down disapprovingly at him. Sam decided this wasn't the time to hang around and he climbed quickly up the steps, wincing slightly at the sting as he bent his grazed knees.

The only seat left was the one at the front immediately behind the driver and Sam slid onto the seat, slouched down and leaned his shoulder against the window. He waited as Al appeared to walk through the bus, his legs embedded in the floor. Al tapped away at the handlink until his feet were level with the floor and then he appeared to sit beside Sam.

"Are you OK?" Al repeated, and Sam glanced down at his hands. The skin on both palms was scuffed and his right hand was bleeding slightly, but that was nothing in comparison to his bare knees. They were badly grazed and trickles of blood had run down both shins.

"Stings a bit," Sam said quietly. He fished around for a moment in the pockets of his shorts with the less injured hand, before leaning forward and asking the driver if he had a tissue. The driver, who was concentrating on pulling the bus away from the school parking bay, merely shook his head without otherwise acknowledging Sam.

Sam looked at Al and shrugged, and Al smiled sympathetically. The knees would have to wait for attention.

"Why am I here, Al?"

Al tapped at the keys of the handlink. "It's Thursday September 29th 1987. Your name's Zachary Slater, but you're known as Zach. You live with your dad, Peter Slater. You're eight years old and you're in Cutley Bank, Georgia. We don't know exactly why you're here yet, Sam, but the kid in the Waiting Room seems to have had a pretty tough time."

"Tell me about it. Look at me. I look rough and I stink." Sam had raised his voice and was rewarded with a sharp whack on the back of his head with a ruler. Once again snickers resounded around him.

"Hey," Al exclaimed uselessly at the assailant. He turned back to Sam, who was rubbing the back of his head and looking a little dejected. "Well, I'm a hologram, so I don't smell anything and right now I'm looking at you, not Zach. But you're right, the clothes are rough. You ready to help this kid?"

"I'll do what I can."

"Good. Well, seeing as we don't know much yet, I suggest you begin with finding out what's going on at home. I'll go back and start researching. Maybe the kid will come up with something useful."

Suddenly Sam looked curiously at him. "Al, you're sitting down."

"What?"

"You're sitting down, properly, on a seat."

"Yes." Al grinned.

"You never do that."

"Well, I seem to spend so much time in the Imaging Chamber, I thought I'd bring a chair with me. Is that OK?"

Sam smiled at him. "Yeah, good idea."

Al tapped again at the handlink and the Imaging Chamber door slid open beside him. Al got up and stepped through the doorway.

"Oh, Al!" Sam said, and realised again that he'd spoken too loudly as nearby kids stared at him. It was too late; Al had gone. Sam slouched back down into his seat and muttered to himself, "Where's home?"

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"Your stop, Kid." The driver's statement shook Sam from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"This is your stop." A couple of kids had already got off the bus and the driver sounded impatient. Sam didn't need telling again.

"Thanks." He climbed from the bus, noticing his stinging knees again, and watched as it pulled away. The other two children, both older than Zach, were already some distance away and there was nobody else to ask for directions. Even if there had been, Sam wasn't sure what he would ask. He looked down at himself and was reminded of the pathetic state he was in. The blood had congealed on both his legs. He looked skyward. "I could do with some help."

When no help was immediately forthcoming, Sam took a moment to survey his surroundings. He was standing at a junction and could see a house about two hundred yards up the road in the direction that the bus had gone. Down the road to his left, there were houses on both sides and in front of the nearest house an elderly lady was gardening. Maybe she would be able to help. Sam started walking.

As he approached the lady, she looked up and smiled warmly at him. "Hello, Zach." Then, noticing his knees, she added, "What happened to you?"

"I fell when I was running for the bus."

"Well, if you'll just come here and help me up, I'll go indoors and get something to clean those legs up." The lady pulled off her gardening gloves and held out a hand to Sam. He stepped onto the grass, took her hand and gently hoisted her off the ground. "Thank you, Zach. You're quite strong for a little lad, aren't you?" Sam smiled and she led him up to her house.

"Have a seat, Zach." She gestured towards a pair of smart cushioned chairs on the veranda, before disappearing into the house. Sam glanced down at himself again, before seating himself on the top veranda step.

When the lady arrived back on the veranda with a tub of warm water and her pocket filled with tissues, antiseptic and surgical tape, she stopped in surprise. "What are you doing down there?"

Sam looked up at her. "I don't want to get blood on your chair."

"Oh. That's very thoughtful of you, Zach." She passed the tub to Sam and carefully lowered herself to a seated position beside him.

She set to work cleaning his legs up, apologising when he involuntarily flinched at the sting of the antiseptic. "I don't have any plasters big enough to cover these grazes, Zach, so we'll have to make do with folded tissues and surgical tape. You come by again tomorrow if you need me to do this again, OK?" She added quietly, "Unfortunately I don't think your father will do it for you."

Sam nodded. "Thank you."

She stuffed the tape and antiseptic into one of the ample pockets in her tunic and with her free hand, hauled herself up using the banister as support. She tipped the water into a flower bed and looked down at Sam. "Now, would you like some milk and cookies before I send you on your way?"

"That would be nice, thank you." Sam was wondering if he might be able to get some useful information from this lady, as she seemed to know Zach so well.

"Good. And please, come up and sit in a chair." She disappeared back into the house and Sam stood up, picked the nearest chair, put his books down beside it and sat down. On a small coffee table between the chairs, the lady's mail lay open from earlier that day and Sam took the opportunity to discover her name from a handwritten envelope: Mrs E. Williams.

Sam relaxed into the cushions. He sensed he wouldn't be enjoying such comfort for long.

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Mrs Williams handed Sam a tall glass of cold milk and offered him a cookie, before settling into her chair with a cup of tea. "How are you getting on at school, Zach? Do you have some nice friends?"

Sam thought for a moment. Nobody had waited for him outside the classroom when the teacher kept him back. Nobody had sat with him on the bus. "Not really."

"I suppose it's hard for you when there's nothing to bring them home to. How's your father?"

Sam sipped at the milk and shrugged. He really didn't know.

"Is he feeding you? I can see he's not keeping you clean. It's difficult now your grandma's not here, but you need to try to do that for yourself, Zach."

Sam nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"You know you can come to me if you need help, don't you? I know your father doesn't like it, but if he's not going to look after you …" she paused. "Well, he'll have to accept that people will start to interfere."

Sam gulped down the rest of his milk. "I should go home. He might start to wonder where I am."

"If only that were true," Sam heard Mrs Williams mutter.

Sam gathered up his books. Still not knowing where home was, he was wondering whether to risk Mrs Williams' concern by asking her.

She got up with him and walked him to the edge of the veranda. "Take care, love," she said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "Don't trip over and hurt your knees again when you walk up that rickety path of yours. And make sure you have a proper meal tonight."

"Thanks," Sam said, before making his way carefully down the steps and across the front yard.

"And see if you can get that father of yours to cut the front lawn. The yard's turning into a jungle."

"I'll try," Sam called back and he set off down the street.

Mrs Williams watched him go and shook her head. "That place is an eyesore."

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Mrs Williams had said enough for Sam to figure that he just needed to find the roughest looking property in the little neighborhood, and he would be home.

Some distance down the same street, where the houses were older and spaced further apart, he arrived in front of a house where the grass was about eight inches high, the stone path cracked and uneven and the white paint peeling off the walls. A window at the front of the house was smashed and covered with newspaper from the inside. Sam had a quick look inside an unstable looking mail box and pulled out a single plain brown envelope addressed to Mr P. Slater. Probably a bill, he mused. At least I know I'm in the right place.

Sam couldn't help feeling apprehensive as he walked towards the front door. He didn't appear to have a key with him, so he tried the handle and found the door unlocked.

Stepping straight into a large, 'L' shaped front room-cum-kitchen, he was immediately struck by the same stale smell that was on Zach's clothes, mixed with the scent of alcohol from a number of empty bottles and cans that littered the floor by the sofa. Some of the curtains were drawn, leaving the room gloomy and adding to the oppressive atmosphere.

"Dad?" Sam called tentatively. There was no answer. It seemed that nobody was home.

In the back wall of the living room, beside the kitchen area was a single open door. Sam decided to venture further into the house. The door led into a dull corridor with a back door at the far end. The first door on the right was open and revealed a small bathroom. A little further down, also on the right, was a closed door, and slightly beyond, on the left, an ajar door.

Sam walked down to the door on the left and peered inside. The tension he had been feeling lifted slightly as he found a room where the light was allowed in. The curtains were open and a big window looked out on a small, overgrown yard backing onto a shrubby open area, and further into the distance, woodland.

This was presumably Zach's bedroom. Along the wall opposite the window there were bunk beds, although only the top bunk appeared to be in use as there was nothing more than a mattress on the bottom bunk. There was what appeared to be a dismantled cradle tucked between the head of the bunk beds and the adjacent wall. A big, wooden wardrobe and a chest of drawers lined the wall opposite the door. Apart from a box of old toys tucked into the corner near the window, there was just empty space in front of the remaining wall, as though something had been taken away. Perhaps the cradle, Sam wondered. A scattering of toys and books had been discarded on the worn carpet, and a raggedy toy dog sat purposefully on Zach's pillow.

Feeling uneasy about not having checked every room, Sam went back to the closed door and quietly knocked before entering. Again he was met by a darkened room in which stale air was tinged with the smell of alcohol. The double bed jutting into the center of the room was unmade and unoccupied. Satisfied that there really was nobody home, Sam quickly shut the door and went back to Zach's room.

He shut himself inside and with difficulty, climbed up onto Zach's bunk, his movement restricted by the big patches on his knees. He sat with his legs stretched out across the safety rail and looked out of the window at the afternoon sun bathing the grass. He picked up the much-loved dog toy and read the tag on its collar: Scruff. Examining the dog more closely, he noticed a thin, furry, fabric flap along one side and discovered a little zipped compartment underneath. He had a look inside, but it was empty. Sam sat the dog in his lap and smiled as he gazed out of the window. Despite the lack of any inspiring decor, he thought the room must be a bit of an oasis for Zach in comparison to the rest of his home. He hoped Al would be back soon with some helpful information, as he wasn't relishing the thought of returning to school the next day.

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