Sam Beckett was bathed in sapphire, traveling toward his next destination in the time continuum. Previous to this, he'd been helping a little girl in 1953 find her lost kitten, not that he knew that. Whatever caused Sam to lose his recollections between leaps had sucked the information out like spaghetti, leaving only a half-eaten plate of memory meatballs. No matter. Sam knew that wherever he'd come from, he'd put right what once went wrong and everything was left for the better. All in a day's work for the average time-traveling, body-snatching, Nobel-Prize-winning farm-boy-turned-quantum-physicist.
The blizzard of light that was Sam coalesced into a solid being again; a new person, a new leap, a new start. He hoped it was a good one. The first thing that struck him was the smell of strong perfume. As he blinked and adjusted himself to his surroundings, he was thrust straight into the present when white hot heat sizzled at his temple.
"AH!"
"Jeez, Mads, I told you to stay still!" A heavyset Asian woman in her 20s had a curling iron gripped dangerously under her 2-inch red nails. She tutted and fussed with the hair on his forehead. "Hang on hang on hang on, don't sweat it. I'll just rearrange your bangs and no one'll even notice!" Proud of her remarkable ingenuity, she lifted the curling iron again and came at him with it like a weapon. Sam made sure to sit still this time, even as the stench of his burning hair furled into his nostrils.
The woman was wearing the ugliest dress Sam had ever seen. It was color-blocked, lime green and purple, skin tight, and pinching in all of the most unflattering places. One odd detail though. Atop her head she wore a wreath of flowers. Why would she have that on, he wondered?
Oh no. Sam saw the fancy room around them, adorned in white-hued decoration. Flowers and balloons were strung along the wall, and the bad hunch he had began to seep from his stomach and throughout his whole body like a parasite. His shoes were too tight. His torso was bound in some sort of medieval torture device. It was much too breezy for his bottom half.
Horrified, he lowered his sights. He was in a wedding dress!
"Oh boy!" Sam gasped.
He just now noticed the mirror in front of him, giving him the opportunity to soak in the whole dreadful thing. He'd escaped from some sort of marshmallow nightmare realm, swaths of cloth forming two giant cotton ball sleeves that shrank into skin-tight lace, mounds of pearly white billowing out from underneath him, topped off with a corset encasing him like an iron maiden, meant less for breathing and more for showing off mountains of his hairy cleavage. Whoever this unlucky bride was-Mads?-she stared back at him, dumbstruck, through thickly lined eyes that made her look like a raccoon. Although her heavy makeup aged her, she had to be in her early 20s, with an olive complexion that was tinted orange with fake tan.
"It's not that bad," the color-blocked woman-his (gulp) bridesmaid-assured him with a big, plum-lipped grin, "I barely got your hairline there. Carl won't even notice!"
Another woman in a matching hideous dress, wearing enough hairspray to kill the ozone layer, approached the other bridesmaid. "Hey, Fiona," she said through a thick Chicago accent, "Tia says she needs help organizing the gifts."
"I'm on it." Mercifully, Fiona lowered her burning baton. "See you at the ceremony!" With a wiggle of her fingers, she bounced away.
Sam blanched, reaching out as if stopping her would stop time itself. "The c-ceremony? Now-Now, the ceremony's now?!"
Big Hair fastened a veil on his head and smiled affectionately into the mirror. "Oh, Madison...you look beautiful." She blinked as she became misty eyed, cupping his puffy shoulders. She kissed him atop the head. "I'm so happy for you. I'm glad you finally found the one."
"About that," Sam said nervously, "I-I've been thinking, and maybe it isn't such a good idea for me to-"
"To go out looking like that?" A rail-thin woman with the same complexion as Madison stood in the doorway, dressed in a powder pink power suit, all sharp angles. She flounced across the room and hummed disapprovingly. Without warning, she grabbed onto the back of Sam's corset and yanked it tighter, causing him to wheeze like he'd just been socked in the gut. "I told you to lose a few more pounds before the wedding, dear, but we can't change that now. I only hope the family looks decent in the photos."
The bridesmaid rubbed Sam's shoulder in private consolation. "Madison will outshine everyone. That's the important thing."
"Hmmm..." Power suit woman seemed to be finding fault in a single curl of Sam's hair as she twirled at it. "You should leave it down. It looks much better down. Of course, it would look even better if you'd gone with the blue color scheme like I suggested. But do you listen to your mother? Oh, and about the dinner, your father and I will have to skip it. You know how salmon gives me gas. And another thing-"
"Uh, Diane," the bridesmaid cut in, stepping between Sam and his over-controlling mother, "We'd better make sure everything is running smoothly out there. We want it all to be perfect for the big day, don't we?"
"Fine, fine, Gina, I'll go," Diane sighed, raising an eyebrow as she smiled. It was the most motherly she'd looked within the 60 seconds Sam had known her. She leaned in toward him. "My little girl. What would you do without me? Oh well. Kiss kiss!" She puckered at the air beside either of Sam's cheeks before Gina guided her out by the elbow, shooting Sam one last apologetic look before the door shut and he was left alone. All was silent save for the rain pounding against the window, which made Sam mentally groan. Of course it was raining. How could this leap possibly get any worse?
A wolf whistle sounded from behind him. "Yowza, you're lookin' great there, Sam! White is definitely your color."
"Al! Boy, am I glad you're here! I-" Sam whipped around and abruptly jolted to a stop, his thoughts temporarily displaced from his dire situation. The hologram wore a bright maroon shirt, silver pants, and suspenders covered in buttons, a black hat atop his head to match the long bolo tie dangling from a mismatched set of gears. All of that was normal for Al, however. What had Sam staring was the sad, thin line of hair growing on his upper lip like some sort of fungus. He was actually taken aback a moment. "What is, um...what is that?"
"What's what?"
Sam drew his finger across his own lip in demonstration. "Under your nose there. What is that?"
Al blinked cluelessly. "What is-Oh! My mustache! I forgot, you hadn't seen it yet. Yeah, I've been trying it out for a little while. What do you think?" He puffed up his chest and waited for Sam's approval, which he would not be receiving.
"I think you need a date with a razor."
The admiral instantly frowned. He huffed and closed his eyes matter-of-factly. "Well, it doesn't matter what you think, because Tina thinks it's sexy. She says she read in Teen Beat Magazine that mustaches make a man look suave and sophisticated." He quirked an eyebrow, hooked his thumbs into his suspenders, and tried to look debonair.
"Tina reads Teen Beat Magazine?" Sam questioned, face scrunched up. His eyes widened as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute-Tina isn't a teenager...is she?"
Al shot him a disappointed glower. "Of course she isn't, Sam. Give me a little credit, will ya? She says she likes the pictures." He gave a dirty smirk. "She also likes it when my mustache tickles her-"
"Al!" Sam shouted in disgust. Al shrugged and chose to leave the rest to his friend's imagination. "Do you have anything on this leap yet?"
The handlink popped and whirred as Al took it out of his pants pocket and shook it. "Not much, but Ziggy's workin' on it as we speak. In the meantime, I'll tell you what we know. It's May 23...1990, you're in Chicago, and you've leaped into...Madison Antonelli, fiancee of Carl Kingman..." Squinting, he looked up and tilted his head. "Carl Kingman, Carl Kingman, where do I know that-Ooh!" His eyes widened in awe. "The King! Sam, you're marrying the Hot Dog King!"
Sam crinkled his nose. "The Hot Dog King?"
"Yeah, the-You don't remember him?" Sam shook his head no. "Oh. His brand is HUGE, made it big in the late 80s with those catchy commercial jingles. Let's see, uhhh..." Al bit his lip as he tried to remember the tune, warbling out a horribly off-key rendition. "Ring-a-ling-ling, he's the King, for the BEST-"
"Would you get to the point?"
"He's rich, you're middle class. He's 43, you're 22. You're a trophy wife, Sam." If he weren't a hologram, Sam would've loved to smack that teasing smile right off his face. The handlink squealed at Al just as the door opened and Fiona peeked her head in.
"We're about to start. Get ready!" She giggled excitedly and shut the door.
Hysteria sprung forth into Sam's throat once again. He turned pleadingly toward his friend. "I'm about to get married, Al! You gotta help me get out of this!"
Al, however, was concentrated on the handlink, his forehead wrinkled. "Uhhh, well, you don't get married, Sam."
"Why not?"
The hologram looked up with panic. "Because according to Ziggy-"
Sam didn't hear what Al was going to say, because something was placed over his mouth and he began to struggle with an unseen assailant. Within seconds, his eyes rolled back and he was out like a light.
-
The first thing Sam became aware of was the sound of a gravelly voice calling obnoxiously into his ear. "Hey! Rip Van Winkle! Rise and shine!"
Sam gave an ugly snort. "Rip Van...?"
"You alright, kid?"
Sam opened his eyes, only to be met with pitch black. He gasped. "Al! I'm blind!"
"No you're not, Sam," he could practically hear Al's eyes rolling, "You're just blindfolded. Don't be such a drama queen."
Sam, however, continued to be a drama queen. "Where am I? What's going on?" In a state of sensory-deprived panic, he anxiously turned his head this way and that, as if he could see through the blindfold. He had to depend on his other senses. Coarse rope itched his skin as it rubbed against his wrists behind him. A spring was sticking into his back from whatever he was sitting on-an old couch?-and it creaked as he moved. His ears picked up the sound of rain continuing to patter outside, mingled with car horns. Sniffing, he crinkled his nose. The room smelled an unholy combination of brewing coffee and rancid garbage.
Smack! The handlink made noises of protest.
"Al?" Sam's question pressed for more information.
"Sorry. I'm workin' on it, kid, I'm workin' on it." Sam could hear the cigar between Al's teeth, his voice moving closer and farther as he paced. "You're in an apartment in downtown Chicago right now. You've been kidnapped by two major bottom feeders, uh...Bud Turner and Stur..." Smack! "Sturgis Fitzburg. They're a coupla small-time crooks looking to make some big cash by holding you for ransom."
"Thanks for the early warning back there," Sam whinged.
"Hey, don't blame me; blame Ziggy! She was the one with the jet lag." The handlink tweeted peevishly, only to get louder when it was whacked again. Al sighed. "Figures. Now she's got a microchip on her shoulder about it."
"And let me guess...my husband can't come up with the money?"
"'Course he can. The King is loaded, remember? But for some reason, before they make the exchange, Madison disappears!"
"Which means...I disappear."
"Bingo. Ziggy gives it an 83% chance you're here to escape these two chuckleheads before you make like the Invisible Man and vanish."
However, Sam was having some trouble figuring out how they got from Point A to Point B. He wiggled his nose as he realized it was starting to itch. "I don't get it. Why would Turner and Fitzburg get rid of their hostage before they got the ransom?"
"That's a good question. When they were arrested, they swore up and down they didn't know where she was, and a body was never found. Personally, I think something went caca and they buried her under concrete somewhere."
Sam involuntarily shuddered as he imagined sharing her same fate.
Footsteps entered the room and he whipped his head in their general direction. The smell of licorice wafted into his nostrils as a pair of stubby hands pulled the blindfold away. The room wasn't well-lit, but he still had to blink as his eyes adjusted.
"Heya, girlie," the one with less-stubby hands greeted with a wave, "Sorry about the blindfold. We weren't sure when you were gonna wake up, and we didn't want you gettin' any bright ideas about escaping on the way here." He was the older of the two, with gray hair at his temples and a long, hooked nose. "We don't wanna hurt you. So just play nice, and we won't have a problem. Right, Bud?" The man seated next to Sam on the couch, oily and obese, leaned closer and flashed a set of rotten teeth. Immediately, Sam and Al recoiled in horror.
"Wh-What do you want?" Sam asked meekly, partially playing the part and partially gauging their reactions to size them up.
Bud stayed silent, looking toward Sturgis to take the lead. The older man pulled over a phone; it made a noise like a little bell as he plonked it heavily onto the coffee table. "Here's how this is gonna go. We're gonna call your husband, right? We're gonna tell him if he wants to see you again, he'll pay up. And if you're good, we'll let him talk to you." He gave a wispy grin. "But you try any funny stuff?" His grin cut away and he slid his thumb across his throat. Sam instinctively jerked back. "Capiche?"
"Puh," Al's chin sunk in disgust and he curled back his upper lip. "You're as Italian as I'm a runway model."
Sam nodded toward his kidnappers in understanding. "Capiche."
"Good. We won't have any problem then," Sturgis said pleasantly. He lifted the phone from the receiver and dialed, playing with the cord as he waited for an answer. He perked up when someone came on the other line. "Hi there. I'd like to speak to the Hot Dog King... Me? Oh, I have his fiancee..."
While the kidnappers were distracted with the phone call, Sam whispered discretely to Al. "When do I disappear?"
Running a finger across his mustache distractedly, Al glanced down at the handlink and shrugged. "There's no data on that. All we know for sure is that it happens before 4 o'clock; that's the time they set up for the exchange."
Suddenly, Sam found the phone being shoved toward his ear. He looked at Sturgis questioningly. "Well?" the older man asked, "Go ahead, babe."
"Um...h-hello?" Sam asked uncertainly. Al leaned in to listen to the call.
"There you are, my darling!" It was Carl on the other end, presumably. His over-the-top voice was all over the place, almost a performance. "My angel! My babycakes! I was so worried when you didn't show up at the ceremony!"
"Well, I...heh, got a little tied up," Sam chuckled nervously. Sturgis and Bud guffawed.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about anything, my blueberry muffin! The ransom is as good as paid. Soon, you'll be in my comforting arms and we can forget this whole thing!"
Sam nodded, mostly for the benefit of the two other men. "Uh-huh. Okay."
"I love you so much, lambykins!"
Sam gulped. The other men were staring. "Okay, well..."
"You can do better than that, Sam," Al admonished, his eyes on the ceiling. He missed the look of death Sam shot back at him.
"I..." Sam struggled, "l-love you too, um..."
"Schnookums," Al provided.
"...schnookums," Sam finished with as much dignity as he could muster. On the other line, he could hear some shuffling.
A new voice, but with a familiar Chicago accent piped in. "Mads, are you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?"
Al consulted Ziggy. "That's Gina Kingman, Carl's sister and Madison's best friend."
Sam gave a slight nod. "Yeah, I'm fine, they-"
The phone was yanked away. "That's enough. Have the cash in a paper bag at the address we gave you at 4 o'clock. We'll drop off the blushing bride then." With that, Sturgis hung up and took the phone away into the next room.
That left Sam alone with Bud. He gave him another gross smile and Sam awkwardly returned one to be polite. "You wanna watch some TV?" the toad asked, speaking up for the first time. He sounded more like a mouse than a lion, his voice almost a falsetto, far from what Sam had expected to come out of the mouth of such a large man.
"Not really," Sam answered. He wanted him out of there so he could make his move.
"Aww, come on," Bud said, almost as if coaxing a small child, "Don't be like that. We're not gonna hurt you. Might as well enjoy yourself while you're here." He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. On the news, a reporter was discussing the kidnapping. Evidently, this wedding was really high profile. The sight of the report lit up Bud's eyes and he hopped excitedly. "Hey Sturgis!" he called into the next room, "We're on the news!" The other man didn't answer, and Bud returned his attention to the screen with awe.
"Some people will do anything for their fifteen minutes of fame," Al commented with a shake of the head. Helpful. Sam wished he'd come up with a plan to get Mr. Big out of the room.
Bud seemed like more of a pushover than Sturgis. Maybe Sam could use this to his advantage. "Gee, I'm really hungry," Sam said innocently, "I don't suppose you could make me something to eat?" He batted his eyelashes and tried to look sweet.
Al frowned. "Saaam, this is no time to be thinkin' about your stomach! We gotta get you outta here!"
Sam's sweet look turned to salt super quick, his raccoon gaze razor sharp daggers. Bud didn't notice. "I think I can do that. I'm getting hungry myself!" With a strenuous grunt, he pulled himself up off of the couch.
Now Al was catching on. "Oh! Good thinking, Sam!"
Sam rolled his eyes and nodded. Thanks, Al.
"What do ya feel like eating?" Bud asked.
"Surprise me," Sam answered with a phony grin.
"One surprise comin' up, little lady!" Bud opened the kitchen door, revealing a filthy counter stacked with food-covered dishes, and disappeared inside.
Al covered his nose as if he could smell the apartment from a decade away. Maybe he could, with the stench it was giving off. "Yuck! Thank god you're not really eating anything comin' outta that kitchen!"
Sam was ignoring him, peering through the open door where Sturgis exited. The older kidnapper was seated in the hallway next to the front door, reading a newspaper and playing with a knife. Sam ducked back inside and rushed toward Al. "The other guy's at the front door. Any ideas?"
"Oh. Let's see, uh..." Al's eyes swept the room and he began to track across the apartment in search of escape plan. Sam did the same. "Oh! Sam! Over here!" Al pulled his head out of the wall and waved him over. "There's a platform outside this window." He jabbed his cigar at the glass. "You can get out there and flag down some help."
"That's it? That's all you've got?"
"This is Chicago. Someone's bound to see you." He checked with the handlink to confirm. "Ziggy gives it a 62% chance of success." He shrugged, half-apologetic.
It wasn't the best odds out there, but Sam decided 62% was better than nothing. Besides, it's not as if he had a lot of exits around here. Squatting down, he stepped over his wrists and pulled his hands to the front. It must have been a spectacle to watch as he struggled to get his wrists around his enormous dress. Licking his lips and glancing behind him to make sure he wasn't being watched, he opened the window and leaned outside.
Only to immediately jerk back inside.
"What? What's wrong?" Al questioned with concern.
"We're ten stories up, Al," Sam gasped.
"Oh yeah. Well..." Al stuck his head out again. "That's a sturdy platform out there, Sam. Just don't lose your balance and you'll be okay." He nodded assuredly and gave a foxy grin. Sam glared again and took a deep breath.
"Okay. I can do this, I can do this..." He wasn't afraid of heights, he wasn't afraid of heights. He stuck one leg out the window, pushing his ridiculously voluminous skirt out of the way. The rain was still pouring down, and he nearly lost his footing.
"Oh, and it's kinda wet, Sam."
"Thanks," Sam said through his teeth, to which Al nodded as if he'd done him a favor. Carefully, he pulled the rest of himself outside and leaned against the cable. He blew out a breath. He'd made it.
He chanced a look back at the wall and groaned. The bricks were covered with a half-painted ad for, of course, the Hot Dog King. A giant, 12-foot face with pronounced crow's feet and slick hair smiled a cheesy, gap-toothed grin. Mocking him. "Oh, give me a break," Sam whined.
"Hey! What're you doing?!" Bud was suddenly at the window. Caught off guard, Sam jumped at the sudden shout and slipped in the rain...toppling over the edge!
"SAM!" Al shouted from his perch mid-air. Peering down fearfully through the rain that fell right through him, he expected to see his friend splatted on the pavement below. However, a voice called out from somewhere closer.
"AL!" Al did a double take as he looked to his left. The quantum physicist was dangling over the edge of the platform, the rope around his wrist caught on the edge of the bars. The slicker it got, however, the more he began to slip toward certain doom. He sucked in a sharp breath. "Al, help me!"
"I can't do anything! I'm a hologram!" Al shouted helplessly. He began to punch furiously at the handlink, looking for answers. "Come on, Ziggy, gimme something!"
Bud stepped onto the platform, and Sam slipped further with the sudden shift in weight. "AH! Careful! Careful!"
"I'm bein' careful," Bud responded defensively. Just as he said this, he kicked over a can of paint. Goop poured out of it and over the side, a bucketful of blue splooshing upon an already-soaking Sam.
Despite the life or death circumstance he now found himself in, Sam had to take a moment. As he blinked and shook the paint out of his eyes, he felt himself buried under the crushing weight of absurdity. He was going to die in a wedding dress and painted like a Smurf. It was a Wonka-esque punishment for some crime he never knew he committed.
The rope slipped again, his stomach leapt into his throat, and he began to drop. Just as he was about to kiss his butt goodbye, a pair of stubby hands had caught him.
He expelled a jagged breath of relief.
-
Now Sam was soaking wet, paint-stained, and coiled in rope from his chest down to his ankles. Judging by his appearance, he was ready to be laid out on the train tracks. A comical frown was etched permanently onto his face as he sat motionless and stared at the wall. He'd lost his privilege of being alone and now Bud was on watch, seated in a chair nearby and focused on the TV. A questionable uneaten sandwich sat on a dirty plate in front of Sam, which would have gone untouched even if he'd had the use of his hands.
Clunk-whoosh. Al stepped in from the Imaging Chamber. "I guess, uh, we found you something blue, huh, Sam?" He closed his eyes and chuckled at his own joke. Har-dee-har-har. Sam didn't move. "Oh come on, that was funny." When Sam finally responded with yet another irritated look, he raised his hands defensively. "Okay. I guess it wasn't that funny. I just came to see how you're holding up until Ziggy can come up with something. We gotta hurry though, 'cause I've gotta get back to Annabelle."
"Anabelle?" Sam grinned sarcastically through his teeth, keeping his voice low. He glanced back at Bud, who kept his eyes glued to the screen. "What happened to Tina? She not like the mustache after all?"
"Oh, no, she introduced us."
"What?" Sam's head jerked toward him as his jaw dropped. Al's personal life astounded him.
Leaning forward, Al gave a cheeky grin. "Annabelle's my tortoise, Sam."
"Oh. You own a tortoise?" Sam asked with surprised happiness. He always loved to learn new details about his own time-that is, when they didn't involve Al's latest conquests.
Al bobbed his head like a proud parent. "Yeah, yeah, she was a gift from Tina a few years back. And she hasn't gotten fed today, so... Actually, I've got some pictures of her in my wallet. Lemme see here..." Shoving his hand into his pants pocket, he slid out his wallet and began to riffle through it. "She's really smart, Sam. Just today, she did the cutest thing. She-"
This gave Sam an idea. He ignored Al and called to his captor. "Hey, you have a girlfriend?" Trying not to look too disappointed, Al pouted and put his wallet back.
Bud scratched the back of his head and eyed Sam from his paint-clumped hair to blueberry-colored shoes. "I'm flattered, lady, but I ain't interested."
Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, no, I don't mean-" His smile dropped. "What do you mean, you aren't interested?" he asked with slight offense.
"Yeah," Al chimed in, "Where does a troll like you get off rejecting a girl like Sam-I mean, Madison?" Sam nodded in agreement with his invisible friend.
"Sorry. You just ain't my type," Bud answered with a shrug, "'sides, I do have a girlfr-er, had a girlfriend..." He corrected himself, frowning at the floor.
"What happened?"
"She left me for someone else," Bud told him sadly, "My best friend. Said they fell in love." He huffed. "Funny. They only noticed they were in love afterSherry and I got together."
"Nice guy like you?" Al commented mockingly, lifting his cigar to his mouth, "How could she let you go?"
"Well..." Sam started innocently, leaning his head over, "Since I'm getting married and all, I think I know a little something about love. And I bet Sherry would think you're a real hero if you rescued a kidnapped bride..."
Bud's eyes lit up. "You think?"
"Oh yeah. Girls love a knight in shining armor."
"I dunno..." Bud said uncertainly, glancing at the door leading to the front, "Sturgis would get awful mad..."
Sam fixed him with a stare of utmost importance. "I guess you have to ask yourself what means more then. The money...or true love?"
A beat. Bud showed off his rotten teeth again. "Okay. I'll do it!" Bouncing excitedly, he began to untie Sam.
Astounded at Sam's unlikely win, Al laughed triumphantly and clapped his hands. "Good goin', Sam! Chivalry's not dead after all." Their victory was short-lived, however, because the handlink chirped and Al read the screen with wide eyes. "Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh?" The ropes slipped away as Sam stood up.
Al met his questioning gaze with worry. "You've changed history! According to Ziggy, Sturgis is about to die!"
"Die? How?"
"Who're you talkin' to?" Bud asked, confused.
"What the hell is going on here?" Sturgis strode furiously across the room.
"You gotta defuse the situation, Sam," Al urged him, "The two of them get into a fight here. Sturgis takes out a knife, ends up accidentally performing hara-kiri in the melee." For visual reference, he pantomimed an invisible sword to the gut.
"Oh no..." Sam said under his breath, looking toward the others with concern.
"I'm lettin' the girl go," Bud said with newfound confidence, straightening his posture, "I'm gonna get on the news for rescuing her and win Sherry back."
"You're WHAT?!" Sturgis was in his face now, his cheeks flushing red and making him look like a cartoonish devil. "What about the money? Sherry's not comin' back to you! You can be so stupid sometimes!"
"Maybe 'stupid' is a little harsh," Sam piped in with a friendly tone, attempting to calm him down, "Why don't we all just sit down and talk about-?"
"You take that back!" Bud demanded, shoving Sturgis away. The other man's reaction was instant, whipping the knife out from his belt.
"Why you-!"
The men began to grapple, and Sam reacted on instinct, bolting into the fray. "Hey! There's no need for-" He stopped when he felt a sudden push into his lower abdomen, and his breath left him. The kidnappers backed away in shock.
For a moment, Sam didn't understand why he was being stared at. He looked down. He felt no pain, but he could see the hilt of the knife clear as day.
"SAM!"
His vision began to blur, his increasing dizziness causing him to collapse to his knees. Al continued to call out to him, but he couldn't register what his friend was saying. He was drowned out by the rushing in his ears and the sudden shower of electric blue.
-
Shards of cerulean shot into the atmosphere, and Sam was whole again. He blinked.
Had he died? No, no, he leaped...thank god, he leaped! If he hadn't, he would have...but Madison did. He'd failed. Closing his eyes mournfully, he held his stomach and let his head drop.
His temple burned, and he jerked up. "AH!"
"Jeez, Mads, I told you to stay still!"
"Huh? What?" Sam looked to his right, and his mouth hung open dumbly. There was Fiona, still in the bridesmaid dress from hell, still dangerous with a curling iron.
She tutted and fussed with the hair on his forehead. "Hang on hang on hang on, don't sweat it. I'll just rearrange your bangs and no one'll even notice!" She lifted the curling iron again, but Sam scrambled forward in his seat and looked straight into the mirror in astonishment. It couldn't be!
Madison gaped back at him in her wedding dress. "Oh boy!"