CHAPTER SIX

The image on the photograph was burned into his memory.

Sam mentally pulled up the picture of Al, once a soldier in a devastating war and now his best friend. He recalled the sorrow that was spelled out on the man's face as he was a prisoner of war, the lines of weariness and sadness after knowing that there was a possibility he would never see Beth again. The haunting image of loneliness as he had stared into the camera lens and seemed to cry out, What is it all for? Is my life a sacrifice for some greater cause?

The photograph taken by the late Maggie Dawson had indeed won a Pulitzer Prize, after "trading in her soul," as she had once put it. Sam recalled the leap to Vietnam, distinctly remembered the changes he had made, some unfortunately not for the better, and had seen first hand what a soldier was truly willing to fight for. A soldier's heart always beats to the tune of freedom.

Sam leaned against the wall, ignoring his aching body as he understood his friend more. He had a greater love for Al, the kind where one shines in your eyes and every time you see him, you have a whole new respect and admiration for him. He smiled. Al Calavicci was a good man, far more than Sam could even remember realizing before.

But despite all of these qualities, Al Calavicci was also a troubled man. He had been through a lot in his sixty-plus decades of life, had suffered many setbacks. Sam knew he would probably never know exactly how many, especially concerning the situation at hand. Sam Beckett had never been a military man himself but he could understand that being a soldier wasn't always that easy. Especially when one had to leave their whole lives behind for a lengthy period of time, not knowing if they'll ever come back. So many soldiers, too many wars, and every one with a heart of courage, if not to mention gold.

A faint sound of sniffling filled the silence just then. Sam looked around, startled by the sound of a man weeping and glanced out into the hallway and into the darkness of the cell across from his own. He guessed he could probably understand why the man was crying but being who he was and what he did for a living, he decided to offer any kind of assurance he could.

He leaned over against the door's iron bars and closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Here we go, he thought. "Hey, are you all right?" he tried.

The man choked on his tears. "Why do you care?" he threw back. Sam could hear definitive anger in the man's voice.

Sam breathed again. "I do care. A lot," he said. And it was true.

The other man snorted, and then laughed weakly. "After last night?"

Sam frowned. Last night? He wasn't here then. He wished Al was here to tell him what had occurred the night before between him and…whomever this was. Sam needed a name but he knew that if his host was supposed to already know this man, he couldn't come right out and ask him for a name, could he? He decided to play out another angle.

"Well, things were said last night that we all may regret," Sam began, "but that doesn't mean I still don't care." He figured that it was good enough.

"You told me it was all my fault, that it's what I fought for is what I would lose," the man stated.

What he fought for is what he would lose? Is that what Al had once said, even as a soldier himself? Sam could hear hatred in the man's tear-stained voice and wondered how Al may have really hurt him. Al did once have quite a violent temper himself, Sam remembered. Maybe at the time hurting others was all he knew how to do in order to deal with his own self.

Sam leaned even closer, his cheek pressing against the bars. "Look, I may have said some things last night, but I am sorry. Truly I am," he said with utmost sincerity.

"I'll bet," was the reply.

Sam hung his head, wondering just exactly what had actually occurred last night between the two men. "Al," he heard himself mutter before he could stop himself.

"Oh yeah, I'll bet you're pleased with yourself."

There was a lot of hurt in the man's voice, not just from the war. This hurt was old, harboring in him for a long time. Sam decided to play the part as he thought Al may have. "What is it do you think you have lost?" Sam tried.

A loud scoff was shot back at him. "Only my whole life. Paul Walker, man of nothing," he said matter-of-factly.

The moment he heard the man's name, a light lit up in Sam's soul. He had determined already that he was indeed here for Al, but he now realized that this leap was for Al, that Al had a chance to put right what once went wrong.

********************************

"Are you sure you're not Uncle Jack?" the lieutenant muttered, staring at a different reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, I'm sure," Al reassured him. He cast a grin at his younger self.

The lieutenant continued looking in the mirror, fascinated and a bit perplexed by what he saw. The image of Sam Beckett, a man he did not know and will not meet for another decade or so cautiously stared back at him, mimicking his every move. Lieutenant Albert Calavicci winked, Doctor Sam Beckett winked; Albert nodded toward his right, Sam nodded to his left; Albert raised his left arm, Sam raised his right arm. Both men smiled at each other in unison.

"Pretty comical, eh?" Al remarked.

Albert looked at him. "This is all like a weird version of déjà vu. I mean, it's like I've done all this before but I can't even remember when."

"It's the Swiss-cheese effect," Al told him.

Albert frowned. "Huh?"

Al cleared his throat. "It's the holes. Like a piece of Swiss cheese. This experiment does that to your memory and we can't figure out why. But don't worry; everything will eventually come back to you."

"Eventually?" Albert scoffed. "And in the mean time, I'm stuck with a reflection that's not my own in a glowing room with humming walls talking to a man who looks like my uncle. Well, what next?" he demanded.

Al crossed over and sat on the edge of the table. "Next we play 'Putting Right What Once Went Wrong.'"

Albert's eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is a man named Paul Walker."

Albert's eyes widened even larger. Al was suddenly thankful that this part of his memory was not entirely wiped out.

"You're friend, right?" he asked.

Albert turned away. "Friend? That's a joke. Friends don't hurt?" He reached up and rubbed his jaw as if he had just received a harsh blow. Al did the same thing, recalling the blinding pain Paul had inflicted on their friendship, physically as well as emotionally.

Al stood up. "It wasn't his entire fault. After being through so much, it was all he knew. See, he thinks it's easier to live with the hurt he's been dealing with by 'spreading it around,' so to speak." Thank you, Verbena, he thought.

"Well, he's done a fine job of that!" Albert shot back at him.

"You don't even know all he's been through, and I couldn't even begin to tell you. But I do know that a friend isn't just someone you like to spend time with and hang out with every Saturday night." He glanced down at the mirror, seeing the image of Sam wrapped around a younger version of himself. "A friend is a brother, one who would be with you for life." His voice croaked. "Someone you would share things with." He cleared his throat. "And share in his own life, too."

Lieutenant Calavicci turned to look at him, a light dawning in him. Suddenly he did begin to understand. Maybe it was because he had opened the door to his heart and let the words come in or perhaps it was because they were, in fact, the same man. In any case, Albert suddenly understood everything despite his temporally-diminished memory. Sure there was still a lot he wouldn't understand for many years but it was enough for now.

Al cocked his head slightly. "Do you remember what you said to Paul right before he hit you?"

Albert remembered. "'It's what we fight for is what we gain. Sometimes at the expense of what we lose.'"

"I had reminded him of what he had lost and all those feelings finally came up in one punch," Al muttered.

Albert frowned. "What happens to him?" he whispered.

Al stared into the other man's eyes, seeing fear in them. "He dies of unexplained circumstances in three weeks."

Albert took a step forward and placed his hands on Al's shoulders. "Then it's not too late. Please let me change this."

Al hung his head. Closing his eyes, he asked his younger self how much he remembered a game the VC called 'Loyalties.' He opened his eyes after a few awkward moments of silence. The look on Albert's face told him that he remembered it quite well.

"Listen…" Al began.

And the two men huddled together in a glowing room with humming walls ten stories beneath the surface of the New Mexican desert.