Sam Beckett did not remember his time between leaps. Although the act was seemingly instantaneous for him, he was aware from Al's telling that days, sometimes weeks passed before he arrived at his next destination. Whatever the span of time, it appeared to be random, following no pattern Sam could yet determine. As for what happened during that stretch of time, since the sole traveler always came out thoroughly swiss-cheesed of the entire event, it remained a mystery to even the Project.
But while Sam was there, that Wherever Place, he was fully aware of everything.
To call it a "place" was inaccurate. It was all Places. It was all Times. It was the door to Everywhere and Everywhen. And Sam, his memory complete, floated weightless in the void, entirely at peace. Here there was no trouble, no pain, no doubt. Here there simply Was.
As Sam waited now, he felt the familiar tug toward the next year, his calling to right another wrong in time. He let himself be pulled into the time stream, slowly at first, then faster, history surrounding him like a whirlpool. The mighty cyclone began to mover quicker and quicker, and he was catapulted forward at the speed of light.
But this time, something strange happened. Something, an unheard of Other, reached out of the swirling mass and grabbed him by the hand, yanking him to an impossible stop. Sam was forced into an unwanted state of Feeling, his weightlessness becoming a crushing heaviness, and a sense of terror overwhelmed him, completely alien in this space.
Pulling away only caused him to sink further down, and he reached out and tried to grasp anything to rescue himself. But of course nothing was solid, nothing but the creature that had him trapped in its clutches. He tried to call out for help, but no Voice existed Here. He had no choice but to face his enemy, and he looked down.
Determined eyes bore into him, the hand dug further and further into his arm, but then, Sam realized, his arm and the Other's were one. And that's when Sam began to feel another sensation unprecedented Here: complete physical agony. The more he struggled, the less of this Other there was, seeping his way inside, setting Sam's entire being on fire. He twisted and turned; his head and body felt too full, crammed with a second entity where there should be one.
A silent scream echoed into the time stream, the massive blur of history thundering around him, the noise and fury of everything that ever Was and ever Would Be, drowning out the minuscule quantum physicist. The entirety of Time and Space howled and flew by at speeds too great to comprehend; it was too much for one man. He pleaded for mercy, to stop-god please stop!-as the Other began to worm his way further into his head, digging, clawing, scratching, screeching, screaming-
And in seconds, he was shot into his next destination, his memory of the event obliterated with a brilliant flash of blue light. All that remained was the awful pain, intensified as all the senses of physical being came smashing into him like a train.
And then, he was very warm. It was tingly at first, but as it radiated through him, all of his torment began to fade away and his muscles relaxed. A cozy blanket of comfort wrapped itself around him, like huddling next to the fireplace, and suddenly it was as if everything was right with the world. He began to wonder what he'd been so worried about in the first place.
Something was in his hand. He looked down to see a syringe between his fingers, the needle still embedded in his arm.
A small awareness told him that this was a bad sign, but it was just that: very small. He was feeling too good to care. He didn't even bother taking the needle out. He simply let his body melt back onto the couch, closed his eyes, and grinned. What will be, will be.
"Oh boy..." he sighed happily.
His breathing began to slow, and he lost himself in the euphoria.
-
"Tag, you're it!" Tom pushed Sam's shoulder playfully before darting into the cornstalks. But it was his laughter that gave his position away, and Sam gleefully bulleted in the same direction.
"I'm gonna get you!" he threatened through a mischievous grin. He pushed aside the greenery as he cleared a path for himself, his feet moving ever faster, until he caught sight of a navy blue jacket. He had him now! In one adrenaline-filled leap, he sprung ahead and tackled his brother to the ground. The two boys rolled through the dirt and out into the open, coming to a stop just outside the old barn.
"Okay, okay, I give!" Tom said through his laughter, "You win!"
Satisfied with his victory, a giggly Sam rolled over onto his back, his stomach comfortably sore. "You let me win," he panted.
"Maybe," Tom said vaguely as he ruffled Sam's hair, not giving up the truth.
But Sam knew. He and his brother stayed on the ground, flecked with leaves and dirt, staring at the perfect blue sky. If their mother could see the state of their clothes she'd give them a stern talking to, but neither of them cared. The sun beat down warmly on their faces, and Sam put his hands behind his head with his eyes contentedly closed. There's nothing he wished more than to be here, in this perfect place and at this perfect moment, the day stretching on until forever.
You can never go back.
Something invisible slammed into his chest and he wheezed. Tom continued to lay lazily beside him, unaware of his distress, staring aimlessly at the clouds. Again, there was an intense pressure on Sam's chest, and he suddenly found himself unable to move. His eyes darted helplessly to his brother.
Slam!
"T-Tom..."
Slam!
Invisible fingers grasped around his throat. He gasped for air...
-
...and suddenly found himself staring at a paramedic, his chest aching and his head pounding. He was on his back, on the floor of...somewhere. He gulped in air as his head swam in confusion, the sounds of voices bouncing off of each other incoherently.
"Where'm I...?"
"You're at home. Can you tell me your name?"
"It's, ummm..." He didn't know. Al hadn't told him yet. He tried to sit up, but the paramedic stopped him.
"Take it easy, sir. Can you tell me what day it is?"
How should he know? Sam's stomach flip-flopped and he groaned. He was rolled over onto his side as he fought the urge to vomit.
"Can you tell me what day it is?" the paramedic repeated.
"I don't know," Sam said shakily. Boy, his head hurt! "What happened...?"
"You had an overdose. We've just resuscitated you."
"An overdose...?" Sam closed his eyes and dropped his throbbing head onto the carpet. He remembered now. The needle. He'd leaped in as his current host was shooting up. "Oh boy..." he moaned.
The questions continued, questions he had no answers to, as a worried blonde woman looked on in the background. He could see a young girl peeking around the corner of the next room, keeping out of sight. Their gazes met, and, looking like prey being spotted by predator, she ducked away.
-
Sam had assumed the woman watching him was his wife or girlfriend, but as it turned out, she was his sister. Her name was Laura Riggs, and his name was Christopher. It was August 4th, 1977, and he was in Los Angeles. Thanks to the paperwork, he now knew more than he usually did this early on a leap. It was good to have some sort of upside to the situation, he supposed.
As he exited the hospital, he glanced at his reflection. Chris looked right at home in the 70s, with shaggy blonde hair and a full, impressive mustache. And like Sam, he was also haggard and sweaty. He ran a hand down his face and left.
Laura was stone-faced as they got into her Ford Escort, placing the key in the ignition but not turning it. She'd barely said two words to him since he'd gotten there. But he chose to remain quiet, unable to find a suitable way to broach the topic of what had happened, nor really having much energy to. The car was stuffy and warm as Sam watched the keychain dangle by his sister's knee.
"I can't keep doing this," Laura finally said to the steering wheel.
"Doing what?"
"You know what." Laura looked up at him with hard eyes. "I told you the last time that if I caught you using in the house again, that would be it. I won't..." She swallowed and gathered herself. "...I won't have my daughter exposed to that stuff."
"I'm...I'm sorry." Sam furrowed his brows as he remembered the little girl watching him. She couldn't have been older than 7.
"I've heard that before." Laura closed her eyes and sighed. She gripped the steering wheel anxiously, steeling herself. "I...I want you out today. I'm sorry, but that's it."
"Hey, we-we can work this out," Sam tried worriedly. He couldn't let Chris lose his home immediately after leaping in! Maybe this was why he'd come here. And somehow, he felt partially responsible for not preventing the overdose, even though he knew he'd leaped in too late.
Laura shook her head. "No, we can't."
"Sure we can," Sam said optimistically through an awkward grin, "I-I won't use anymore, I promise. I'm done!" He had no business making promises he didn't know if Chris would keep. But what else was he supposed to do?
"You say it, but you never mean it!" Laura heatedly hit the steering wheel and turned away to face the window, hand over her mouth. "I mean, jesus, Chris...we nearly lost you! What would I have had to tell Sissy, huh? What if she had found her uncle dead on the couch?"
Sam looked away as the reality of the situation sunk in. He had been in an achy mental haze since he'd been revived, and maybe that's why it only just now struck him how close he'd come to dying. Him, not Chris. He could've gone to sleep and simply...never woken up. It had been frighteningly easy. He stared at the dashboard, unprepared for any sufficient response.
"I'm going to take you back, you're going to pack up your things, and then you're gone." Laura was resolute, her mouth a hard line.
Sam swallowed. He didn't want to argue. "Where...where do I go?" he asked uncertainly.
"I don't know."
They said nothing else.
-
Sam didn't know what to pack; he had no idea what things were Chris's. In the end, he'd gone the safe route, taking only items he was sure belonged to a 30-something-year-old man. After all, the only other occupants were Laura and her young daughter. Predictably, his wallet was empty, and his clothes had been neglectfully unwashed. Altogether, Chris's belongings had fit into a single, light suitcase.
At least it was convenient, Sam thought to himself sardonically. Perfect for taking with him on the street as he wandered aimlessly, freshly homeless. He squinted up at the afternoon sun, but quickly turned away as it aggravated his headache. His stomach simultaneously craved and swiftly rejected the very thought of a good meal.
1977 Los Angeles was a depressing sight. To him, the entire world seemed tinted an ugly yellow and brown, like an old movie. The littered sidewalk was full of people, only sparing him an occasional shifty glance, moving to and fro across the busy street.
Clack-clack, clack-clack. A dirty old man with a cart passed by from inside an alley, looking up with tired eyes from under a worn stocking cap. A sudden chill ran up Sam's spine and he hugged himself. He hoped that wasn't Chris's future. He hoped that wasn't his future.
Fear turned to anger. What right did Laura have to kick him out and leave him like this anyway? Didn't she care what happened to him? Why did he have to be here? This wasn't his problem! He wished Al would show up already.
No one's coming for you.
Who said that?
"There you are!"
"AH!" Sam whipped around. The sound of his own scream made his head throb, and his heart raced as he caught his breath. "Jeez, Al! Don't do that! Don't sneak up on me!"
The hologram took a defensive step back. "Excuse me."
"You're late," Sam said with a glower.
"Well if you had as much trouble as we had getting a lock on you, you'd be a little late too,"Al said, pulling a cigar out of his teal, faux snakeskin jacket. Sam looked at him inquiringly as he pointed the unlit cigar at him. "There was a problem with the leapee when he arrived in the Waiting Room. It made contacting you pretty difficult. Ziggy said your brainwaves were scrambled for a little while there." He wiggled his fingers over his head.
Sam rubbed his temple. "Yeah, that would've been the heroin overdose."
Al tensed up and did a double take. "The what?"
"I leaped in right in the middle of it."
"You had an overdose, Sam?" Al repeated with shock, closing in with concern, "Jeez louise, are you okay?" For the first time, he really took in his friend's sickly appearance.
"No, I'm not okay," snapped Sam, spreading his hands out, "I had to be revived by paramedics!" Casting a glance at the passerby giving him stares, he leaned in and spoke lower. "I nearly died back there!" he whispered.
"Oh god..." Al pressed a couple fingers to his lips as he looked Sam up and down fearfully. "If we'd known, Sam, we would've..."
"Would've what?" Sam asked him with a scowl, "Stood there and done nothing?" Al scratched behind his ear and looked down guiltily. Immediately, Sam regretted what he'd said. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair..."
Al shrugged it off. "The important thing is, you're alive. Right?" He grinned. Sam nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Right." He took out the handlink and punched in some buttons. "Now, back to the business at hand. We were able to find out some things from Chris-That's, uh, the person you leaped into-"
"I know his name, Al," Sam interrupted impatiently, "And I know the time and the place. Give me something useful."
Al's eyes shifted. "...okay, well, Chris was on the fast track for a great career as a lawyer. That is, until he was in a skiing accident and got hooked on painkillers. That led to not-so-prescription drugs, which got him arrested and ruined his reputation. He's been floating from job to job ever since." He bounced on the balls of his feet and let the handlink fall to his side. "You're currently, ah, 'between' jobs."
"I'm currently between homes," Sam grumbled, "My sister kicked me out. Can you believe it? It wasn't even my fault!" He kicked a nearby fire hydrant in frustration.
Before Al could respond, someone bumped abruptly into Sam's shoulder as they passed, walking straight through the hologram, and Al shot her a dirty look as he took offense. The African American woman, obviously in a hurry, offered Sam the briefest acknowledgement with a half-turn of her head and a quick, "Sorry!" thrown his direction.
"Why don't you watch where you're going next time?" Sam yelled with irritation. He was tired of being walked all over today.
Unperturbed, the woman stopped, faced him, and raised her hands in a shrug. "Next time don't take up so much of the sidewalk!" she said playfully. She winked, laughed, and went on her way.
Sam fumed as he watched her go. Who did she think she was? But he suddenly felt shivery and nauseous again. He ran his hands down his face and shuddered. God, he felt awful. When he finally looked up over his fingers, he saw Al scrutinizing him closely. "What? What's that look for?"
"Uh, well...Ziggy thinks there's more to your leap-in than we initially thought."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, the brain scrambling thing..." The handlink chirped incessantly at Al and, tired of shaking it, he shoved it into his pants pocket. Ziggy's noisy protest was muffled by purple fabric. "She thinks you're a little magnafoozled with Chris. Which means you might be suffering some withdrawal symptoms now that the line is cut off."
"But I'm not a heroin addict, Al," Sam argued, "I'm just...still recovering from the overdose, that's all."
"Could be," Al conceded carefully, "But I gotta tell ya, you look like death nuked in the microwave right now. And the shaking, the irritability...seems like a classic case of cold turkey to me." Although it was painfully obvious to both of them what was happening, Sam still gave him a vexed, distrusting look. Al raised a pair of assuaging hands. "Hey, who knows? Ziggy's been wrong before. All I'm saying is, you ought to be careful." Then, with a mix of concern and sympathy, "Things might be rough for a while."
Reluctantly, Sam had to agree. He didn't seem to be getting better; he seemed to be getting worse. However, that didn't lessen his annoyance at Al. Something about him was really rubbing him the wrong way. He pursed his lips at traffic. "What am I here for?" Sam asked, looking for a change of subject, "I mean, besides to get kicked out of my house?"
"We don't know yet."
"Al..."
"We'll get the information to you as soon as we can."
Sam glowered. Why was this not a surprise to him? "Why do you never know what I need, when I need it? I'm in trouble here!"
"We're not psychic, Sam," Al shot back in defense. He retrieved the chattering handlink and pointed demonstratively at the screen. "There's a lot of research and, uh, calculations, that go into this, and-Where are you going?"
Without warning, Sam had dashed away. Just behind Al, the woman who had run into him so rudely had been searching for her keys, her nose buried in her purse as she wandered into the street. Unknown to her, but luckily in clear view for Sam, a truck was rolling down the street and headed straight for her. In the blink of an eye, he'd grabbed the woman by the shoulders and yanked her out of harm's way.
The wide-eyed woman blinked as she watched the truck barrel down the road and disappear around the corner. "Damn!"
"You can say that again!" Al breathed in shock, "That was a close one, Sam!"
"Are you okay?" Sam asked the woman.
"Thanks to you." She turned to face him, then smiled half-apologetically. "I guess I really owe you one now."
"You can owe me any time..." Al leered, appreciating the way her jacket fit her body. Sam glared.
"Name's Janelle," she introduced, unaware of the ogling hologram, "Janelle Jones." She shoved her hand toward him with a forward confidence.
"Sa-uh, Chris. Riggs," Sam answered, shaking her hand with a strained smile.
"Nice to meet you, Chris." Janelle flashed a brilliant white smile. When she checked her watch, however, her smile wiped away and she snapped her fingers. "Shoot! I'm gonna be late! I hate to get rescued and dash, but I've gotta get to work." Sam nodded. "Thanks again!" With another winning smile, she hurried into her car. But as she was leaving, she pulled to a stop beside Sam, rolled down her window, and stuck her head out. "Hey, Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"Am I ever gonna see you again?"
Sam couldn't help but be drawn to her upbeat disposition. His grin became genuine. "If I'm lucky."
"Right on," she said happily. She giggled, pulled back into her car, and left.
"I like her," Al commented sincerely, absent of his usual sexual overtones. He puffed on his cigar reflectively as they watched her pull away.
"Yeah..." Sam felt his tension from before melt away, as if it had been some dream someone else was having. He felt lighter, somehow. Perhaps he wasn't as magnafoozled as Ziggy thought. "Maybe saving her was the reason I leaped in here."
"Don't you think you would've leaped by now if it was?"
"Oh yeah."
"You might be onto something though," Al agreed. Sam heard a whoosh as his friend pulled up the Imaging Chamber door and stepped into the light. "I'm gonna go check with Ziggy, see if this Janelle woman has anything to do with your leap objective."
"Good." Sam rubbed his arms and looked at his less-than-welcoming surroundings. "I'll, uh...be here," he said jokingly.
"Hang in there," Al encouraged him. The door slid closed.
-
Having nothing else to do, Sam spent the day wandering the streets of LA. Some time out in the sun might do him some good, he thought. He looked through store windows, people watched, and tried to keep his mind occupied. But as the day wore on, it became harder to concentrate. Nausea was a constant battle, and his legs wobbled as his energy was sapped away. By nightfall, he was feeling absolutely lousy. Sweat soaked his clothes as he huddled under his jacket, his teeth chattering. He'd traveled pretty far into the city that day, but he'd felt compelled for some reason to go back to the alley he'd started at earlier, where he now made his shelter.
This was his life. A never-ending series of someone else's problems, now his, from one embarrassment and misery and torture to the next. He just wished it would stop sometime. That he could be free to be his own person, instead of an actor. That he could be home again.
He hated leaping.
...did he? He'd done a lot of good.
No, you haven't.
Sam frowned and sat up.
"You still here?" Sam started and yelled in surprise, his expression mirrored by Janelle. "Hey, it's just me," she said in a friendly voice, "Remember, the babe that almost got greased by that crazy driver?"
"Janelle, yeah," Sam sighed, massaging his chest as he tried to calm down, "You just...snuck up on me..." He rubbed his aching eyes as he tried to catch his breath
"Sorry." Janelle's brows furrowed with concern. She leaned down on her knees to get a better look at him. "You got a place to stay for the night?"
Sam's heart pounded against his rib cage with a sudden bout of anxiety at her implied offer. "Of course I do, I...I was just, um..." He tried to come up with a lie and came up empty.
"So that's a no." Janelle's face dimpled in a polite grin. She nodded toward the apartments across the street. "Come on, you can stay with me for the night."
Oh, was it tempting. Very...tempting. But Sam knew he was in terrible shape, and he didn't want to get her involved in Chris's problems...his problems. This was more than just a case of having no place to sleep. "I'd love to," he said gently, "but I...I'm not exactly, uh..." Trembling hands gestured for the right words.
"Hey." Janelle tilted her head toward him, her earnest expression filled with understanding. "I've been there. Believe me, I understand. I don't think you wanna be alone right now."
He didn't. And he believed her. Something in her eyes told him that she had been in this situation before, and it was encouraging to see the positive energy she now exuded. If she could've made it through this hell, so could he.
He gave a small, affirmative grin.
-
Sam had leaped into prisons that were in better shape than the apartment complex Janelle resided in. The walls were thin, covered in graffiti, and cracked, the hallways an echo chamber of loud TVs and louder arguments. Regardless, Sam found it a better alternative than sleeping in that alley. He certainly preferred the company.
Janelle tossed her purse onto the counter and spread her arms out grandly. "Welcome to the Ritz."
Sam responded with a light chuckle. The apartment was unsurprisingly small, with one bedroom and a tiny kitchen. The kitchen had a small divider separating it from the living room, where most of the space was taken up by a fold-out table and a squishy orange couch. "Looks, uh...cozy."
"It's home," Janelle responded good-naturedly. She placed a bowl inside an ancient microwave and Sam held back a groan when he saw it. Did everything in the 70s need to have faux wood paneling? "You want some dinner?"
Sam hadn't eaten a thing since he'd leaped in, but it made him queasy just thinking about food. He shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm, uh...not very hungry."
"Suit yourself. If you change your mind, the offer's still open." She took out her bowl and sat down at the fold-out table. As there was only one chair, Sam took a seat on the side of the couch closest to her. "So, Chris, what do you do when you aren't playing Superman?" She watched him over her spoon as she carefully slurped the hot soup.
Sam shrugged. "This and that...I guess I've had a lot of jobs." He grinned. It was the truth. "But not, um...currently." He averted his gaze in search of a distraction. He noticed a clunky old typewriter stashed between some old newspapers. "What about you? Are you a writer?"
"Hmm?" Janelle followed his gaze to a typewriter and laughed. "Oh! No, no, I'm a dancer."
"Then why do you have that?" Sam asked her curiously of the typewriter.
"Well..." Janelle seemed suddenly bashful. She puckered her lips. "It's sort of a hobby of mine. Short stories." She shrugged dismissively.
"What kinds of stories?" Sam asked, leaning forward with interest. He was amused by her sudden shyness.
"Um...throwaway stuff."
"I bet it isn't." Sam was all support now. He forgot about his nauseousness as he focused in on her. Aiming a wheedling smile at her, Janelle finally gave in.
"Okay, okay! They're...science fiction stories, okay?"
"You're into sci fi?"
"Don't act so surprised. I grew up on those hokey movies; I can whoop you in any trivia contest."
"I believe you." Sam raised his hands as his white flag, and Janelle leaned back in her creaky chair with satisfaction. "You just didn't seem the type."
"And what do you consider 'the type,' hmm?" Janelle shot him an accusing look, and he pretended to cough with chagrin. After slurping down the rest of her soup, she took out a pack of cigarettes. "You mind?" Sam shook his head.
Janelle flicked the lighter on, and an unforeseen mood fell over Sam. Concentrated on the flame, he became lost in the cigarette's entrancing glow. Soft lips exhaled wisps of smoke and Sam's legs jiggled restlessly. Feeling his anxiousness returning, he tore his gaze away and instead focused on the carpet. Janelle's hand slid into his line of sight with another cigarette between her fingers.
"You want one?"
As a rule, Sam was against smoking. It made your teeth yellow, your breath stink, and, not to mention, it could kill you. It went against Sam's very principles. Al would say he was a goody two shoes. A real honor's student. If he got caught smoking, he'd land in detention and blemish that perfect record of his.
Except, Sam had smoked. On leaps, when he was psycho-synergizing with a host. And once (though he'd never tell Al) in a lame attempt to impress some older kids in high school. With that track record, Sam knew he could quit when he wanted to. And right now, he felt this was what he needed to take some of the edge off. So he took the offered cigarette and Janelle handed him the lighter.
"Thanks." Janelle nodded and he took a long drag. He closed his eyes in pleasure. This was a good idea. "Tell me what you write about. Little green men?" he said with a joking smile.
"Sure," Janelle said, laughing, "and big, six-eyed squids that carry women off to their spaceship!"
"Come on, tell me."
Janelle considered if he was really serious, her cigarette halfway to her mouth. Seeing his genuine interest, she lowered her hand. "There's one I'm working on called The Yesterday Woman," she said, with excitement playing on the corners of her mouth, "Her name's Penny. Anyway, she wakes up one day and finds-poof!-she's transformed into another person. And no one remembers Penny. Everyone treats her as if she's always been this other person. It's like Penny...never existed. But she does."
Sam's grin slowly faded.
"I wanted to write it because of my own experiences," Janelle continued, becoming more serious as her brows knit with memories, "When you're an addict, you can feel like you become someone else sometimes. Like it's your body but it isn't you running the show." She turned her head to the side and squinted thoughtfully at him. "You know?"
Sam gave a small nod. He swallowed. "Yeah. I do."
More than she realized. That's who he was: The Yesterday Man, living his life as someone else that everyone knew but him. Some days, it felt like Sam Beckett only existed in his mind.
Janelle tried to lighten the mood. She chuckled. "I mean, I never met any little green men in my life, but...that spoke to me."
Sam smiled encouragingly. "You should publish it."
"Pssh! You don't even know if it's any good." Janelle laughed, putting out her cigarette in an ash tray. She grabbed her bowl and headed for the sink.
"Neither do you unless you put yourself out there," Sam coaxed, raising his eyebrows, "C'mon. What've you got to lose?"
Janelle was watching him from across the divider, the bowl forgotten in her hand. Something in that moment just clicked, and Sam felt as if he were talking to an old friend. She slowly pressed her lips together. "I'll think about it, Superman," she finally said. She pointed her spoon at him. "But if I don't get my butt to bed, I'll be late for work in the morning."
"You dance in the mornings?"
"No, I wait tables in the mornings. That's my second job."
Sam nodded awkwardly. "Hey, um..." He grinned. "Can I read one of your stories?"
Janelle paused. "Really? You don't want to read one of those silly things."
Sam shrugged good-naturedly. "It'll help me sleep."
She was onto him. With a knowing grin, she pulled out a stack of papers from underneath the typewriter. "Don't drool on 'em."
"Yes, ma'am."
Janelle chuckled and headed back to the kitchen. Sam looked toward the dishes in the sink and quickly felt like a freeloader. "Uh, can I help clean up, or...?"
"Sure, just don't break anything." She winked and changed direction toward the bedroom, returning with a blanket and pillow. She motioned the items toward the couch and joked, "Hope you like springs in your back."
-
If only springs were the worst of Sam's problems. He twisted and turned on the couch for hours, tossing the blanket aside one minute, only to be freezing the next. Only when he put the blanket back on, he was boiling hot again. And no matter what, he was soaking in sweat. He felt like he had the flu, only ten times worse. If only he felt as bad as he had earlier, when his headache didn't threaten to tear his head in two. The dinner he hadn't had started to come up, and he hastily found the bathroom and heaved.
Wiping his mouth as he exited the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye he saw someone move across the room. He jerked to a standstill. "Janelle?" He squinted in the dark. The living room was only lit by what little light was emanating from the bathroom, making it difficult to spot where she'd went. At last, he spotted her standing behind the couch.
It wasn't Janelle.
He didn't know who it was. All he saw was the silhouette of a person, shrouded in night. They were so still, he could've mistaken the figure for a statue, but he knew they were alive because he felt them watching him through unseen eyes. If not for his shivering, he'd be just as still as the person watching him. That's when the light flipped on, and Sam nearly jumped ten feet in the air.
No one was behind the couch. They'd disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Janelle was standing by the switch in her robe. "Everything alright?"
Still gasping for air, Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah...just a bad dream."
Janelle slowly looked him over. "'Kay. Watch out for them little green men," she joked lightly. She reached for the light switch.
"No," Sam said quickly, "Leave it on."
Janelle lowered her hand. "...you got it." She retreated into her room.
Sam's legs felt like jelly underneath him as he staggered to the couch. He flopped down and lowered his head between his knees.
"How you doin', Sam?"
He inhaled sharply and shot up. When he saw Al, he collapsed onto his lap again. Of course it had been Al earlier! What was he thinking? "Jeez, Al!" he whispered. He didn't want to wake up Janelle again.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Al's reflective gold shoes stepped up in front of him. He lifted his head to see Al leaning sideways with worry. "How you holdin' up?"
"Not great. Did Ziggy find anything?" Sam laid down on the couch to try and settle his stomach.
"As a matter of fact, she did," Al said, taking out the handlink. Contrary to his statement, however, he fought with the pile of gummi bears, his face tight with frustration. He whacked it so hard the lights blinked out for a moment.
"It doesn't look like you found much."
"Huh?" Al looked up, noticing Sam's worried stare. "Oh no, it's not that, it's just, uh," he hit it again and Ziggy beeped, "Ziggy's getting some weird readings from this leap. It's making her difficult to work with." His last comment was not-so-subtly tinged with annoyance. "We think it has to do with your magnafoozling. It makes things tricky, but not undoable." He chucked away the concern with a wave. "I wouldn't worry about it, because we got what you need."
His mind fogged with withdrawal, Sam accepted this without further question.
Al continued the briefing, "According to the original history, Janelle's car was smashed by that truck. Flattened like a Coke can." He clapped his hand and the handlink together to demonstrate, much to Ziggy's annoyance.
"So I was right, I was here to save her from being hit."
"Wrongaroonie." Sam frowned and Al stepped closer. "Janelle had gone back into her apartment for a pack of smokes, so she wasn't anywhere near the accident. But because of your little encounter, she decided she was already running late and didn't go inside."
"You're telling me she almost got killed because of me?" Sam asked with dismay.
"Hey, she's alive because of you, remember?" Al pointed out. He put his cigar into his mouth. "Besides, the truck driver saw you run in and missed the car entirely this time. Anyway, I was right, Janelle does have something more to do with this leap. At least Ziggy agrees with me for once." He directed his comment upward at an unseen parallel hybrid computer before directing Sam again. "She thinks you're here to put Janelle and Chris together."
Sam moaned and put his pillow over his face. "Not another romantic leap..."
"'Why do you say that, Al?'" Al inquired, imitating Sam and ignoring the whining, "Well since you asked, I'll tell you." He began to pace. "It about more than just romance, Sam. Before you leaped in, Chris continued to abuse drugs for years until he simply fell off the map; he never did get off the streets. And Janelle is a former user; in your time-uh, 1977-she's been clean for five years. So Ziggy thinks she'll be good for him. Help him kick the habit. She puts the odds of getting these two together at 92%."
Sam moved the pillow and ran his hands slowly down his face, closing his eyes. He felt too sick to complain any more.
"You've got this, Sam," Al assured him confidently, trying to lift his spirits, "No one dies during this leap; you just gotta push them in the right direction. You're on the right track." Sam kept his eyes closed and nodded. After a short pause, he heard the Imaging Chamber open. "You're doing good."
"Al."
"Hm?"
Sam's eyes remained closed. He had to remind himself that Al was trying to help. "Thanks for looking out for me."
"I'm your Observer. It's what I do."
The door shut. Somehow, Sam fell into an uneasy sleep.
-
How long had he been trapped here? Until the beginning of Time. He waited, grasped, and failed to find purchase as the blue smothered and choked him. Images of life and death, chaos and war and famine, creation and destruction, played and replayed and drove him to madness, even as his own undoings haunted him. What he wouldn't give to fix them, but he would give even more to live them again, really savor the sensation of Feeling, the blood slick between his fingers.
What he wouldn't give to recreate all of his worst crimes on Him.
But all of it was intangible, yet so visceral and unattainable, his fingers slipping through the images like sand. Either he was moving or his world was, or whatever his world had become since his last day, and the howling abyss swallowed him up in its gaping maw.
I'll kill you. I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!
-
Once again, Sam was pulled back into consciousness in a fit of panic. Sitting up, he gasped for air; his chest felt so tight. The couch and blanket were damp with perspiration and made him cold.
I'm coming for you.
"Morning."
Sam jerked his head to see Janelle with a mug of coffee. She held it out to him and as soon as he smelled it, he recoiled in disgust. "Ugh, get that away from me..."
She shrugged and walked away. "More for me," she said, sipping from the cup herself, "Want some breakfast?" Sam groaned. Janelle chuckled. "Didn't think so."
"I'm glad this is all so funny to you," Sam snapped at her.
"Naw," Janelle raised her hands in surrender, "Just trying to lighten the mood, that's all. I know you must be feeling like you got your ass kicked right now. By a small army of gorillas."
Sam rubbed his temples and reminded himself that he was her guest. She didn't have to help him, after all. "Yeah," he forced a laugh, "I'm sorry."
"Tell you what. Why don't you make it up to me by cleaning up a little while I'm at work?"
Sam twisted himself to face her over the back of the couch, perplexed. "You mean I can stay?"
"If you want to."
Sam twisted his fingers. "You don't have to do me any favors because of yesterday. I mean...I can go if I...if I scare you, or..."
"Hey. I said you can stay, and I mean it," Janelle firmly assured him, "I trust you."
A beat. The words struck deep. "Why?"
Janelle seemed to not know for sure herself. She thought it over a moment. "Because nobody ever asked me about my stories before." She smiled, finished her coffee, and picked up her purse. "I left some extra breakfast in the fridge," she said with a wink, "In case you change your mind." She opened the door.
"Janelle?" She stopped. "Your story was beautiful." He gave a small smile. "I liked the part in the garden." It had been a garden on a spaceship. A piece of Earth for a lonely astronaut lost in the stars. Picturing it had helped Sam ease into sleep.
The woman was briefly flattered into silence. Finally she returned the grin. "Thank you." And she left.
Janelle's trust reached inside Sam and relieved something he didn't know was there, like an old wound he didn't remember obtaining. It felt as if until now, no one had believed in him like that. Except...
It's His fault you're stuck here.
There was that voice again! He hadn't imagined it! Sam searched the room frantically for the source. "Who said that?"
Don't listen to her. She doesn't care.
No one else was in the room. The voice seemed to emanate from the very walls. "Who are you?" Sam asked again.
Hurried footsteps behind him. The door opened and shut. Sam whirled around so fast he became dizzy.
"Oh no you don't!" Determined to catch this intruder, whoever it was, Sam raced out the door and into the hallway. His head whipped left and right, but once again his culprit had evaporated into thin air.
Keep running, Sammy boy. You'll never get home.
"Damn it, who are you?" Sam demanded the air, "Tell me what you want!" He staggered in circles, arms outstretched, waiting for any sort of clear response. One of Janelle's neighbors had their head poked out of their apartment, watching him suspiciously. "What're you lookin' at?" Sam growled. The neighbor wordlessly slipped back inside.
He waited. The voice had gone silent.
What was he doing? Running around talking to voices? This drug was doing strange things to him. He knew this was irrational. But...the voice knew him. It said his name. Was it simply what was in his head already, reverberating back to him? But then why did some of it make no sense? Was that something from Chris then?
He needed to lie down.
-
"Please," Sam begged, "Stop! I won't fail you again; I promise!" The cat o' nine tails cracked mercilessly onto his bare back, unlistening, and tore open fresh wounds. He screamed as new blood mingled with the old on the floor.
He began to sob. It was all he could do at this point. He hated himself for it.
"Now now, Samuel, blubbering is so unbecoming of you." It was Zoey, her nude jumpsuit a sharp contrast to the red of the Disciplinary Chamber. She watched him with wry amusement, her arms folded across her chest. "Lothos is very displeased with your performance. Take your punishment like a good little boy."
Sam sniffled with anger, slowly lifting his head from the block to face her. He spit out blood onto the floor. "I...am not...a little boy..."
Descending with the grace of a programmed machine, Zoey leaned onto her knees and met him at eye level. Her expression reminded him of a vulture, waiting for him to die out in this desert before she pecked at the remains. "You are what we say you are," she stated coldly. Without breaking eye contact, "Thames. Another ten lashes."
The man with the whip couldn't have been more pleased with this order. "I thought you'd never ask."
The whip ripped into his flesh again and again, Sam's voice becoming raw from the agony exuding from his throat. He was sure he would die this time, and after six days the torture had only just begun. The only thing keeping him alive was his hatred for his captors. He lived out of spite. One day, he would be fr-
Crack!
He yelled again.
"We'll be back!" Thames was tied to the base of the tree, staring Sam down with a look that could kill. "You can't save them all, Al." "SAM!" BANG!
The life was instantly gone from Thames's remaining eye, the other destroyed by the gaping bullet hole in his face, and there stood Sam with the smoking gun in his hand.
-
Sam screamed and bolted upright on Janelle's couch.
"Jeez, Sam!"
"AH!"
The hologram took a few cautious steps back. "Hey, it's just me!" The handlink chirped, forgotten in his hand.
Sam's urge to hyperventilate had been stopped cold by his anger at Al. He wasn't sure if it was due to his nightmare, Al's abrupt appearance, or his obnoxious red suit, but something about him drove him right up the wall. "Do you always watch me when I sleep?" he panted.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, Al chuckled and gave a mischievous grin. "Believe me, I'd rather be playing sleepover with some cutie in a nightie..." Sam didn't see the humor. Al cleared his throat and shifted back into serious mode. "That must've been some nightmare."
Suddenly introspective, Sam stared at his tremulous hands. "I...I don't feel like myself, Al."
"You just had a bad dream, that's all."
"It's not just that."
"Trust me. It's the withdrawal. You'll be fine."
Trust him? TRUST HIM?
"Oh yeah," Sam said, his lips forming a sick smirk, "because you're looking out for me."
You did good, Sam. Get ready to leap.
Al's mouth slanted at Sam's odd tone. "Well, yeah."
I can get you out.
Sam's eyes narrowed. "My best friend..."
You're safe now. I can get you out.
"Uh, Sam..." Al rubbed at his ear. He didn't seem so confident now. "Maybe I'll check with Ziggy again. Make sure these weird readings aren't something else." He began to punch buttons on the handlink as rainbow lights blinked on and off.
Sam stood up, shaking his head. "You're always so worried about me, Al," he said with resentment, "That is, until you forgot me."
"What're you talking about, Sam?"
Damn hero.
He hated looking at that smug face. He'd like to tear it off. He remembered pummeling his fists into him over and over, splitting his knuckles, drawing blood, the satisfying crunch of bone hitting bone.
You're safe now.
He didn't care. He never cared. Sam could kill him.
Damn hero.
Liar. Liar. Liar.
"Sam?"
I can get you out. You did good. Getyououtgetyououtgetyououtgetyououtgetyouout-
"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!"
Sam lunged forward, and in an instant he had his hands around Al's throat. Satisfyingly solid, effortlessly squeezed shut. The man choked and clawed helplessly for release, but Sam only closed his fingers tighter. His grin grew wider and wider, a bear trap smile, and Al's eyes began to roll up into his head.
Die. Die. DIE!
-
"NO!"
Sam woke up. He strained to breathe as his eyes darted around the room in search of Al. He was alone.
It had been a dream. No, a nightmare. But it felt so real. So terrifying. So...
...wonderful.
Sam's shaking intensified.
