SLIDERS

"Reflections"

This story is a follow-up to the episode, "The Guardian."

. . . . . . . . . .

This morning is absolutely beautiful! Amanda Mallory grinned as she stepped onto the front porch of her Victorian home. It was warm and refreshing, the spring air speaking of renewed life. Amanda stretched her arms to the sky and took a deep breath, the heat of the sun invigorating her. Today would be the perfect day to go through the bedroom closets and get rid of the stuff we no longer need. And if I have time, she decided, I'll sort the through boxes in the attic, too.

Going inside, Amanda ascended the creaking, wooden stairs to the second floor where a glance at her watch prompted her to rapped several times on the closed door of her teenage son's room. "Quinn, you need to get up! You're alarm didn't go off again."

"Thanks, Mom," the sleepy voice of her son muttered back.

Quinn wasn't actually a teenager any more but a young adult, yet he still needed her, Amanda smiled, amused and happy in the moment. Targeting her room as the clean-out starting point, all she found in quick succession were a few old clothes and spider webs. Bereft when her husband died eight years ago, Amanda had sweep through the house closets keeping what was necessary, along with a few cherished items. And since she had never been a packrat, the storage areas had remained clutter-free.

"I guess I'm off to the attic next," Amanda quipped.

She entered the hallway and in passing the bathroom, she could hear Quinn's off-key crooning from within. Amanda halted and chuckled. She couldn't make out the words, nor did she try. As much as she loved her son, she had accepted the fact that his singing could make a dog howl. Simply put, he couldn't hit a correct note if it were to save his life. And just because Quinn was her son didn't mean she had to stay and endure the torture. As she stepped away, she heard the shower turn off. Backtracking, she knocked on the door, leaning into the wooden panel. "Quinn? You have basketball practice this afternoon, right?" she called.

"Right," Quinn yelled back in that vibrating tone that said he was toweling off. "And I have a date with Jenny tonight, right afterwards."

"I thought you had a date with that new girl—what was her name?"

"Wade. That's tomorrow night."

Ah, the life of a teenager, always on the go, Amanda mused wistfully. There had once been a time when he wouldn't go anywhere, she reminisced with aversion. A certified genius, Quinn's fascination for science emerged as soon as he could walk. As a result, he was skipped ahead in school two grades, hence becoming the youngest and smallest among his classmates, thus making him the favorite target of bullies. Because of that, he began to seclude himself in the basement with his science, experimenting on God only knew what for days on end. But now, with the exception of that one evasive project, he was always out with friends, never seeming to be at home.

And Amanda didn't want it any other way. She gave a final knock to the door. "I'll be up in the attic," she said, continuing on her way.

Upstairs, she panned the expansive, unadorned room, enjoying the scent of the exposed maple wood that constituted the ceiling and floor. The accumulated boxes and miscellaneous items were relatively sparse as well, due to that same intense housecleaning she employed during her grief.

Near the front of the lot was the large, blue steamer trunk, handed down through four generations of the Mallory family. The irreplaceable possessions—family bible, birth certificates, immigration papers—had long ago been removed to a safety deposit box. Nevertheless, the trunk continued to guard cherished items, but only that which was valuable to the Mallory Line: the baptismal gown of the deceased child, the laced hair of great-grandma Brittany, the Civil War bullet taken out of the leg of a cousin.

Feeling sentimental, Amanda knelt before the musky box with heightened anticipation. She hadn't forgotten it was there, but nor had she opened it since Michael's passing when she had added prized memories in her husband's name. During that impromptu occasion, Amanda had also included things of Quinn's that she deemed extra special and didn't want to part with. However, enough time had passed where exactly what was inside had faded away. And now that Quinn was older, maybe it was time to officially pass the trunk to him.

Tomorrow. Today was her moment.

Amanda opened the lid, and gasped. She hadn't seen the bat in a while, and certainly wouldn't have expected to find it here, tucked in with her husband's stuff. Amanda picked up the varnished wooden handle, cradling it with revered respect, awash with gratefulness. This bat had changed her son's life—HE had changed Quinn's life. Turning it over in her hand, she reread the inscription that had been permanently marked on its surface those many years ago: "You'll never need to use this if you use your head. Jim Hall."

It had been a bad time for her and Quinn. Michael had just died and the bullying at school had escalated to the point where the boy was coming home with cuts and bruises. She had tried to help her son, but he was angry and distraught and pushed her away. At that crucial period, Jim Hall stepped into their lives. He had had an instant connection with Quinn, reaching and calming him when she couldn't. Jim taught Quinn how to circumvent his fears by thinking past the problem and finding an alternative method of defense. In this case, to ward off the bullies, Jim had trained Quinn in a few boxing and martial art techniques.

After "The Big Fight," which is how she and Quinn came to refer to that incident, Amanda had received a call from the school's principal. The woman complimented Quinn on how he had handled the volatile situation, crediting him with the defensive moves. But Amanda knew what Jim had done for her son. Afterwards, she and Quinn had had a small ceremony where they placed the bat in a corner of his closet. Even though the bat had been a symbol of triumph and of growing, it also hawked of misery and pain; thereby, both agreed it should be put away, like that of an old life ending and a new life beginning.

And there the bat stayed. At least, that's what Amanda believed. She had forgotten about it for the most part, but obviously it still meant something to Quinn for him to have placed it with his father's memories. As well as it should be.

Laying the bat gently on the clothes in the trunk, Amanda couldn't help but stare at the name and wonder what ever happened to Jim Hall. He had left their lives as suddenly as he had entered it. She would never forget that face—the shocking realization sent ice water through Amanda's veins. That face! She swallowed hard. It couldn't be! Why hadn't she noticed it in all these years? Because you were too busy living, her inner voice told her. Busy trying to get Quinn and yourself on track.

Amanda again swallowed but her mouth had gone dry. How? How? HOW?! She demanded as she climbed to her feet, her body shaking so hard she had to clutch the support beam for help. Her heart beating loudly in her chest, Amanda rushed down the flight of stairs. She had to catch Quinn before he left. She had to know! She had to find out NOW!

"QUINN?" She screamed, holding her breath in fear that he had left already.

"Downstairs!" His voice echoed from the first floor. "I was just getting ready to walk out the door."

Using the banister to supplement her weakened knees, Amanda hurried to him. She knew what she would see. She just had to – what? – see for it for herself? YES! To confirm her sanity!

Quinn came to the bottom of the steps, peering up at her with those same intense blue eyes she had stared into a million times before.

Amanda caught her breath as she came to stand before him. She touched his face, examining every inch like a blind woman who had just been given sight.

This was— IS him: JIM HALL!

"Mom, you all right?" Quinn asked his impish grin disappearing under fearful concern.

Amanda nodded while her mind raced. This is her son, yet if Jim Hall looked . . . than who was he? Rather who had he been?

Swallowing, Amanda forced herself to ask, "Quinn, tell me, that experiment you're working on in the basement, what exactly is it about?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Mrs. Mallory was not given a first name in the series, but using "Mrs. Mallory" throughout the story seemed too impersonal, so I turned to the SLIDERS book adaptation, by Brad Linaweaver, as a reference. On page 10, Mom/Mrs. Mallory is given the name of Amanda (i.e. "…and Dad had signed it: To Amanda and Quinn, may we always be together."), dilemma solved.