"The Lesser Sin"
A Quantum Leap story
By Lal Soong
Sam Beckett, arriving, post-leap, in a bus station, held a briefcase in one hand and a suitcase in the other.
Am I coming... or going? he wondered, then laughed, realizing he was always coming and going. The noise of nearby buses caught his attention--two were loading, the other unloading.
It was nighttime and Sam caught his host's reflection in a dusty window ahead: a tall, thin man about sixty.
"Dr. Greenfield, Dr. Greenfield!" a woman called as she approached the time traveler. She held out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "You left these on the counter."
"Thanks," Sam replied, taking the spectacles and slipping them into his breast pocket with a thankful smile. He stepped to his right, not sure which way to go.
"I believe your bus is that way." The woman pointed to Beckett's left. "You better hurry. It's about to leave."
"Thank you." Reaching the nearly-full bus, he slid the suitcase into the open luggage compartment, but decided to keep the briefcase, hoping it would contain some clue about this leap. He boarded.
"Ticket, please," the chubby, middle-aged driver requested. Sam patted his pant pockets, wondering where the doctor would have put it, and finally finding the ticket in the breast pocket of his comfortably worn jacket. He handed it to the driver with a triumphant grin. "Sorry..."
The man accepted the paper with a grunt and nodded to the seats. Sam eventually found an empty one near the back next to a teenage boy. The kid eyed Sam meticu-lously, assessing the old man's vulnerability. Then he smiled, little more than a sneer, the crooked, off-white teeth giving Beckett the impression he was looking at a maniac.
"Whatcha gawkin' at, old man?" the boy hissed. "You better look away, or you'll regret ever settin' eyes on me." He lifted his sleeve slightly, revealing a switchblade.
"Oh boy," Sam said softly and quickly looked away. Just what he needed, a reject from Grease. He felt the cold stab of the boy's eyes on his back and realized the kid might be more dangerous than he looked.
A blonde in her early twenties sat across from him. She smiled, bouncing as she did so, the motion encompassing her entire body with enthusiasm. "I'm Myrna Tate."
"Ah, Dr. Greenfield," the time traveler replied.
"A doctor, wow! Why are you taking a bus? I thought you doctor types had money. A plane would be much faster."
"Some people don't like flying." Sam wondered if that was Dr. Greenfield's reason.
"Really?" Myrna said, raising her eyebrows. "I had a cousin who was afraid of heights."
"Fear of flying and fear of heights aren't--"
"Me and my sister used to get her up in the hayloft, then take the ladder down. You should have heard the fits she threw, begging us to come back with that ladder. It was funny back then. You know, kids will be kids." Her smile faded. "It's rather sad now, though."
"Why?" Beckett asked automatically, knowing she would tell him whether he really wanted to know or not.
"Well, the poor dear decided she was going to get over her fear once and for all, so she climbed onto the roof of her two-story house. She slipped and fell off." Myrna formed the words slowly, her pain palpable on her pale face. "Breaking her neck."
"Now that's morbid!" Al said as he made his entrance. "I know you can't talk Sam, so try not to look too conspicuous and get a good look at the guy sitting next to you."
"Why?" Sam blurted out. He knew something was wrong with that kid.
"Why?" Myrna exclaimed. "I just told you why. She wanted to get over her fear of heights, so our teasing wouldn't bother her anymore."
Myrna continued to prattle, but Beckett tuned her out, listening to Al. "Ziggy says this bus is involved in an accident just outside Las Vegas, a couple hours from now," the project observer explained. "Seven people die and several others are severely injured."
Sam glanced at Myrna, and she giggled, her eyes scintillating.
"Dr. Wayne Greenfield--you--managed to save Emil Kasterdorf," Al continued. He pointed his cigar at the boy seated beside Sam. He was peeling dry skin from his hands, seemingly obsessed with the task. "Real charming guy, huh?" Al punched buttons on the hand link. "Huh.... Ziggy says you're here to not save him."
"What!?"
"I said my mother--" began Myrna.
"Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom," Beckett said haltingly as he set his briefcase down.
Al followed him into the small bathroom, noting that, were he a real person instead of a hologram, it would have been very crowded indeed.
As soon as Sam pressed himself into the tiny space, he turned to meet the observer's half-amused gaze. "Al, I've never--HE would never expect me to--"
Al shrugged. "According to Ziggy, if you don't let Emil Kasterdorf die, three years from now, in 1982, he goes out and kills thirteen women before he's finally caught by the authorities."
"Oh, God!" Sam leaned against the sink, having lost his equilibrium. A foreign, cold fear locked in his midsection.
"Sam, he chops them up to the point that their loved ones can't even identify them."
Beckett closed his eyes trying to fight the nausea rising from his belly. Vivid images of once-beautiful women floating in pools of their own blood surfaced in his imagination.
The bus rolled forward, picking up speed as they entered the highway. Sam washed his face and hands, trying to calm his suddenly rebelling nerves before stepping out of the bathroom. He glanced anxiously from passenger to passenger, wondering who would die. There were children aboard, each so full of life. Reluct-antly, he returned to his seat.
Emil had his switchblade out, carving his name on the arm rest. Sam pictured the same blade carving the same letters into the flesh of an innocent woman. The thought sent his stomach rumbling again. He shifted in the seat, turning and expecting to see Al, but the observer had strangely vanished without a "goodbye."
Even he's afraid of Emil, Sam thought, remembering the time when his friend had thought Beckett was a vampire. Holograms! he added with grim humor.
The bus rumbled on into an ominously quiet night, and Sam fought against sleep. I need a detraction, he thought, then decided that it was time to browse through Dr. Greenfield's briefcase. Leaning over, he felt around for the case, but it wasn't there.
"Lookin' for something, old man?" Emil asked with a smirk.
"Did you take my briefcase?" Sam asked, trying to keep his fear under wraps. What was wrong? He usually didn't have this kind of problem...
Emil laughed. "Do you see it, old man?" He raised his hands, waving the knife. "I ain't got it. Find it yourself."
Sam knelt to look for the briefcase, spotting it between the two passengers in front of him.
"Excuse me," he said to them. "I believe my briefcase slid under your seat."
"I'll get it for you," the elderly man replied. "But it didn't just slide. The young man beside you kicked it."
Sam accepted the briefcase. "Thank you."
"Got some important papers in that?" Emil asked, clicking his switchblade closed.
"I don't believe that's any of your business," Sam said slowly, eyeing the knife and praying he wouldn't pay for his comment.
Opening the briefcase, the time traveler hunched over it and leafed through the pile of papers he found. Often when he leaped into someone, facets of his host remained. He noticed immediately that this was true with regards to Dr. Greenfield's eyesight. Reaching into his breast pocket, he grabbed the glasses and slipped them on. Among the papers were reports on female infertility, written by Dr. Greenfield.
"Oh boy, he's a fertility specialist," he mumbled.
"What did you say, old man?" Emil said.
"Don't call me that! I'm a doctor. Doctor Green-field. You address me as such." Beckett wasn't usually so surly, but this kid could aggravate the most congen-ial person.
"Well, ex-cuse me, doc," came Emil's sarcastic reply.
Sam scanned a few more of Dr. Greenfield's papers. Finding nothing that could help him, he closed the briefcase and returned it to the floor. He removed the glasses, tucking them back into his pocket.
"Reviewing your notes, Dr. Greenfield?" Myrna asked.
"Not exactly."
"Are you going to L.A. for a medical convention?"
"Yes," Sam replied, deciding that it didn't matter whether it was true or not.
"I'm going there to become a model."
"You're certainly pretty enough."
"Why thank you," she said, blushing.
Myrna launched into a description of her plans, but Sam heard little of the idyllic dreams. He was too tense. A future serial killer sat beside him, and only he could prevent that future. How could he let any human being die?
How could God expect him to?
This wasn't right.
Though he didn't know how, Beckett believed that he had to change history in a way that wouldn't test his morality.
HE must believe I'm up to the challenge, Sam thought. There has to be a way to solve this so everyone wins.
He turned toward Emil. With his hands propped behind his head, the boy was lightly snoring. Sam knew that Emil didn't deserve to win, but at the same time, he didn't have the right to let the boy die.
"...said I was a fool to even try, but a girl's gotta try," Myrna said, and Sam suddenly remembered that she was talking to him.
"What was that?" he asked.
"My husband, Barry."
"You're married?"
"Yeah, I told you. Barry, he tried to keep me from making this trip, so I asked him, 'You ever hear of women's lib?'"
"Oh yeah," Sam said with a soft chuckle, remembering throwing a brassiere into a fire during a women's pro-test.
"I packed my bags, and here I am."
"Myrna, why did you leave your husband to pursue a career that may never amount to anything?"
"How would I feel ten years from now if I never tried? I can't stand the thought of becoming a homebody with a houseful of kids, totally dependent on a man."
"You can be independent without leaving your husband. You could get a job or go to school. You're young. You have lots of years ahead--" Sam faltered, wondering if Myrna would be one of the casualties. He had to find out. Where was Al?
"I know all the arguments," Myrna replied, not noticing Sam's breaking off. "Barry spelled them all out to me. He even said he'd pay for it if I wanted to get a college degree."
"Sounds like your Barry is a sensible guy."
"Yeah, but I like the thrill of adventure and chance."
"I wish you luck. I just hope you don't make it to Los Angeles only to find you've left a bigger adventure behind."
Myrna's smile waned. "Maybe, but we take gambles all our lives."
"You lookin' for adventure, baby," Emil piped up. He'd either faked sleep or slept so lightly that all the conversation had roused him. "I hear this bus has a stopover in Vegas. Want to get it on?"
"No, she doesn't want to get it on!" Beckett snapped.
"I'm not that kind of girl!" She looked at Sam. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go to the ladies room."
Oh, Al, Sam thought, I wish you'd come back. I've got some questions I need answered.
For an uncomfortably long time, everyone fell quiet. Myrna returned and closed her eyes to rest. Most of the other passengers also appeared to be sleeping.
Sam continued to force himself to stay awake, cautiously glancing at Emil from time to time. The kid remained awake as well, and the time traveler wondered if the other passengers weren't more fortunate than himself. They were totally oblivious to the fact that a maniac sat among them, or that they would soon be in an accident. A cold chill rattled down his back.
They arrived in Las Vegas, the driver calling out as he opened the door, "Be ready to reboard in twenty minutes, folks."
Several people rushed off the bus, heading for the nearest casion to try their luck. Sam wandered into the terminal, looking for a vending machine and a cup of coffee.
Al popped in, nearly causing Beckett to dump the just-purchased caffeine fix.
"Where have you been?" Sam demanded, blowing on his fingers, still wet with the hot liquid.
"I wanted to wait until you could talk," the hologram replied. "Didn't want to antagonize the kid, Sam. He could be dangerous.... Have you thought about what you're going to do?"
"Exactly when and where does this accident happen? Is there any way to prevent it?"
"You can't prevent it, Sam. Emil would live for sure then."
"Al, seven other people will die if I don't."
"And Emil kills thirteen. Thirteen is more than seven." Al poked his cigar at Sam, emphasizing the difference.
"I'm glad you can rationalize it that way. But I can't. There has to be a way to save all the passen-gers."
Flustered, the project observer consulted Ziggy, then shook his head. "Ziggy can't come up with a scenario that would save all of them."
"Then maybe I should come up with one for her." Sam took a gulp of coffee. "When does the accident happen?"
"At 3:22 am."
Sam glanced at the wall clock. It was 3:06 already. That meant that the accident would occur right after they got back on the road...."Who gets killed?" he demanded.
Al listed off the seven victims, including a small child and his parents.
"What about the injured?" Sam thought of Myrna's beautiful smile. "Is Myrna Tate among them?"
Al fiddled with the hand link, whacking it a couple times. "Ah, Sam, Myrna Tate is struck in the face by a piece of glass. She's maimed for life."
"I can't let that happen, Al! What causes the acci-dent?"
"A drunk driver in a pickup truck crosses over into the wrong lane. The bus driver swerves to miss the truck and topples over into the embankment. The drunk driver isn't injured, not even a scratch."
Myrna opened the door. "Dr. Greenfield, the driver says he's ready for everyone to reboard."
Sam stared at her beautiful face, wondering how she would cope. He couldn't let her get back on the bus. Approaching her, he suggested, "Myrna, why don't you call your husband."
"Call Barry? Why? He'd just try to talk me into coming home again." A dreamy look came over her.
"Maybe that's the right thing to do. Call him. I can tell by your expression that you really love him."
"Yes, yes, I do. Barry and I have been together since we were fifteen." She paused, her gaze growing more distant, then grinned, reliving a pleasant memory. "I remember when he was courting me," she finally continued. "It may sound silly and old-fashioned to you, but I was incredibly flattered. He'd leave poems in my locker at school, or sometimes flowers. He'd come to my house and sing "My Girl" outside my window. I knew I loved him after our first date."
"Then why are you leaving him?"
"I'm not leaving him, not forever."
"Don't kid yourself, Myrna," Sam said, mentally crossing his fingers. This had to work. "Call him. It's hard to find a love like you two obviously share."
She folded her arms, considering the idea.
"Please, admit I'm right for your own sake."
"Ohhh, okay," she relented, looking around for a phone and spotting one just outside the restrooms. She started for it, then turned back. "Thank you, Dr. Greenfield." She removed a phone card from her purse and placed the call.
Al shook the hand link, sparking several plaintive squeals and beeps. "You did it! She doesn't get back on the bus, Sam. Her husband drives all the way to this terminal to pick her up."
"That's one life that won't be ruined," Beckett said.
"What about Emil Kasterdorf, Sam?"
"I can't do it, Al."
"You have to," the hologram exclaimed. "Letting Emil die is the lesser sin. If you save him, thirteen inno-cent women die, and that's a far greater sin."
Sam raised his hands, waving them confusedly. "I can't, Al, I can't. I have seven other lives I need to save right now." He threw his coffee cup away and walked outside to talk with the bus driver. He had to convince the man to postpone the departure.
Most of the passengers had already re-boarded.
What could he say to delay the driver? He couldn't tell him about the impending accident. Everyone would think he was crazy....Then again, maybe he could convince some of them not to continue if he told them the truth. Surely, some of them would believe in premonitions and heed the warning... He'd have to risk sounding like a raving lunatic.
Sam stepped into the bus, the driver starting to close the door behind him.
"Wait," Beckett said. "There's still one more passenger." He knew Myrna wasn't coming, but maybe he could use her as an excuse...
"That's their tough luck," the driver replied gruffly, closing the door the rest of the way.
"But she has to be in L.A. by tomorrow morning. Can't you wait a few minutes?"
"Look, buddy, I got a schedule. If your friend isn't out here in the next sixty seconds, I'm out of here."
"Maybe that'll be long enough,," Sam replied.
"No, it's not," Al said. "Seven people still die."
"Ohhhh--okay. Listen up everybody," Sam began. "There's going to be an accident. I don't have time to explain how I know, but at 3:22," he glanced at Dr. Greenfield's watch, "exactly nine minutes from now, a drunk driver is going to cross our path and run us off the road."
"Sit down, you jackass," a man exclaimed in the third seat behind the driver. "What kind of dope are you on anyway?"
"I'm not on any dope. Someone has to believe me. There's going to be an accident."
"Phillip, I don't like the sound of this," a woman said to her husband. "I want to get a hotel for tonight and catch another bus in the morning."
"You don't really believe him," her husband replied.
"Please!"
Phillip sighed, stood, and carried their small son toward the front of the bus as the frightened woman trailed behind him.
Sam stepped out of their way.
"Let us out of here," the husband told the bus driver. Two more passengers followed their example.
After they left, Al said, "That's three more down, Sam. That was the family that would've died."
The time traveler allowed himself to smile shakily before he realized four people were still going to die. And he still hadn't figured out any way to deal with Emil Kasterdorf.
"Sit down," the driver growled. "Or I'll throw you off."
Sam found his seat next to Emil, and the driver rolled the bus forward.
"There's really gonna be an accident, isn't there?" Emil asked, eyeing Beckett intently. Sam refused to meet his eyes. Emil stood. "Let me out, old man!" He forced his way past Sam and ran, stumbling, to the front of the bus. "Let me out! Let me out!"
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" The driver stopped the bus, the brakes screeching. "Anyone else?" he grumbled as he opened the door.
Quickly, Sam rose to follow. "I have to go after him," he said to the driver as he stepped off the bus.
Emil was walking down the highway, trying to hitch a ride. He glanced back, noticed Sam and started running.
Sam picked up his pace.
"Hurry Sam!" the hologram exclaimed, floating along the highway next to the physicist.
"Emil!" Beckett yelled. "Stop!"
For several blocks, Sam chased after the kid, only to have the distance between them grow. His lungs seared with each gasp of the cold-night air, and a stitch balling in his side nearly forced him collapse. Fin-ally, he gave up, leaning back against a building and tried to catch his breath.
Al appeared in front of the time traveler. "Sam, you've saved the passengers! Ziggy says you delayed them seventy-five seconds, long enough so the bus passes the pickup after the drunk driver swerved back into his own lane."
"Thank God," Sam gasped.
"You saved seven. Now, you've got to think about the other thirteen. You have to go after Emil."
"What would you have me do? Murder him?"
"I--I don't--" The project observer slipped his cigar back into his mouth and began fiddling with the hand link.
Slowly, Sam's heartbeat steadied while Al tried to cajole guidance from Ziggy. Neither noticed the figure sneaking up on them until Sam felt the tip of the switchblade pressed firmly against his back.
"I told you I don't like nobody messin' with me, old man," Emil hissed. "Now, you're gonna pay."
"Do something, Sam!" Al exclaimed.
Beckett didn't have time to think. He spun, kicking Emil in the gut and knocking the switchblade out of his hand, the blade flying several feet before clattering on the sidewalk.
Sam ran.
"Don't look back!" the hologram yelled. "He's right behind you!"
Sam plunged forward, saw an opening in the highway guard fence and crossed over to the other side of the road. He had only gone a few yards before he heard brakes screeching and a loud thud. Turning around, he saw that Emil had run out in front of a pickup. Its driver stepped out, staggering, to meet his victim. Several other people halted, climbing out of their vehicles.
Sam rushed toward the boy. "Out of the way," he told the drunk driver. "I'm a doctor."
"I didn't see 'im," the driver moaned. "He jist jumped out in front o' me."
Sam bent to check for a pulse, but before his fingers touched the boy's neck, he knew that Emil Kasterdorf was dead, his neck contorted into a most unnatural position. He slipped off his jacket and laid it over the boy's face.
One of the witnesses called 911, and along with Sam, waited for the police.
An ambulance came to take Emil's body.
An officer handcuffed the drunk driver and escorted him into a patrol car.
After taking a statement from Sam and the other witnesses, the police left with their suspect.
"Al," Sam called tiredly, looking for the project observer.
"It seems Emil solved the problem for us," Al commented.
The time traveler nodded. "I hope I never get that close to a serial killer again."
"Me neither."
Sam stared at the hologram, a slight smile on his face, the sense of foreboding finally gone. "I told you I could solve this morally and still save everyone."
"Everyone innocent, you mean."
Sam nodded. "I think it's time." He glanced up, directing his words at God. A moment later, the flashing blue light carried him away....into darkness.
"Oh God!" a man screamed. "Somebody, please, help me! I'm afraid of the dark." The man wailed like a trapped animal.
"Oh boy," Sam muttered.