Snow flurries were carried on the growing wind and the sky was a steel gray. It was fitting, Sam thought, to mark the day. He sat patiently, his nephew Tom on one side, his niece Shannon on the other. In front of them was a newly opened grave. They were awaiting the arrival of the caisson that carried the earthly remains of Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci, USN, retired.
Stoically, Sam looked out at the white markers that dotted the landscape in front of him. He'd wanted to walk behind the caisson with the rest of the mourners but his nieces and nephews, the only family that remained to him, had argued that he was too frail and weak to do so. He'd been hard-pressed to find any argument to counter them.
He'd stood by and watched as the casket was transferred from the hearse to the caisson before he'd been driven ahead to the gravesite. Shannon and Tom had accompanied him so that he wouldn't sit alone while his other nieces and nephews stayed behind to walk with the cortege. And so he sat now and waited for this last chapter of his friend's life to be written and the book closed.
It was just a few minutes later that they heard the strains of the Navy band that accompanied the cortege and soon it was in view. Sam rose and remained standing as the honor guard and color guard took up their positions, the mourners who'd walked behind the caisson took their places around him and, finally, the casket team carried his friend's casket from the caisson to the grave. It was only then that he resumed his seat.
As the military chaplain read the committal prayers, Sam found his mind wandering back three days ago – Al's last day on earth. As age had crept up on him, Al had fought it retaining a youthful love of life. It was only in the last two years that it seemed to have overtaken him.
"I'm 99 years old, Sammy," he said in the early hours of the morning. His voice had been no more than a papery whisper. "I've lived a good long life, but you know what they say, Kid, 'all good things must end'." Al had reached a shaking hand to Sam and a ghost of a smile had touched his lips when Sam gently took it in his own. "You've been a real good friend to this old man, Sammy. A good friend and…and the son I never had." Sam had tried to interrupt then but Al had shushed him. "You let me finish before there's no time. I never said those words to you before now, but you have to know that's how I felt. When I see your Dad, I'm gonna tell him what a damn good son you are. He's proud of you Sammy…and so am I." Al had paused then pulling his hand from Sam's and reaching out to rub the back of it over the younger man's cheek, brushing away a tear. "I love you, Kid, and don't you ever forget it."
Tears had flood Sam's eyes and choked his voice. "I won't," he finally forced out. "I love you, too." In a voice that was barely heard, he said the words that he'd been dreading, "Goodbye, Al."
"Not goodbye, Kid, never goodbye. It's just 'see you later.'" I'm gonna sleep now. I'm tired….I'm real tired." He'd closed his eyes and never reopened them.
Sam was brought out of his reverie when he heard the detail call out. The prayers had ended and with crisp, military precision, the six men of the casket team snapped the flag from on top of the casket holding it at waist level. As they held it in place, a lone bugler played the mournful notes of Taps followed by a 3-volley gun salute. Then, the casket team began to fold the flag until it was a triangle.
The commander of the detail accepted the flag from the last man to fold it and waited to receive his salute. Turning crisply, he walked until he was standing just in front of Sam. Leaning down slowly, he presented the flag to Sam and dropping to one knee recited the words, "On behalf of the President of the United States and the Chief of Naval Operations, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's service to this Country and a grateful Navy." Standing, he offered a crisp salute before turning back. Shortly after, the honor guard and the rest of the navy contingent were dismissed.
Sam allowed Tom to help him from his chair and lead him back to the car that would return them to the hotel.
He sat silently looking out the window at the passing scenery on the return to the hotel. Tom and Shannon, who had accompanied him in the car, didn't try to draw him out of his silence. He'd been much the same since Al's passing, only speaking when necessary.
They walked through the hotel lobby and into the elevator in silence, Sam leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand. It had been his constant companion since the heart attack that had almost taken his life three years ago. He'd aged rapidly after that. Those who didn't know Sam or Al often mistook Sam for the older of the two instead of the younger by nearly 20 years. At 80, he felt like he was 100 - more so over the last three days.
"We'll come get you for dinner, Uncle Sam," Tom said as Sam slipped into his hotel room. Sam barely acknowledged the offer before closing the door snugly behind him.
He walked to the bed, sinking heavily down on the edge of it. The folded flag he put down to rest against the pillows. He sighed deeply feeling as if he were truly alone now. Oh, he still had his nieces and nephews but with Al's passing, he was the last.
His mother had passed away shortly after his return from leaping. He'd been grateful he'd been given the opportunity to say goodbye to her. Shortly after that, he'd said goodbye to Donna – a goodbye they both agreed on when they realized their marriage should have never been. Sam hadn't re-married anyone else after that – he'd never entertained the thought. He always felt that God, fate, time or whoever had been leaping him wasn't done with him yet. He couldn't – he wouldn't ever put anyone through that again.
It was nearly twenty-two years since Katie has passed away. Dear, sweet, beautiful, mischievous Katie had had her life cut early when cancer claimed her at the age of 54. It was then that Sam began to worry that he'd be the last. He'd often speak of it to Al and each time Al would say the same thing. "You're never gonna be alone, Kid. Not if I have anything to do about it."
Jim had followed Katie a couple of years later. Sam always felt it was a broken heart that had taken Jim. Just three years ago, his brother Tom has passed quietly in his sleep.
Everyone he'd worked with on PQL had also passed on before him. Even Ziggy was no more. It had fallen to her to convince her creator, her father, that technology must move on, and her time had come.
Now, even Al had passed on from this life and Sam felt truly alone. Even when he'd been leaping, he'd never felt the loneliness and solitude he felt now because he knew, without a doubt, that Al would be coming through the Imaging Chamber door. He'd be there to offer his advice and Ziggy's information; to tell one of his many stories or offer up a wisecrack; to guide Sam to do whatever mission was required of him. That would never happen again, Sam realized. Never again would he smell his friend's cigars or listen to one of his bawdy stories.
Realizing how truly alone he felt, Sam made his way over to the desk and sat down. Pulling out a sheet of stationary, he picked up the pen on the desk and carefully penned a note. Satisfied with it, he brought it back over to the bed and rested it on the flag that lay there. Then, approaching the window, he looked out at the snow that fell heavily before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He felt a peace settle over him and, opening his eyes, he looked up. "I'm ready," he quietly said. In the next moment, unwitnessed by anyone, a blue-white aura surrounded Sam. When the light faded away, he was gone.
It was an hour later when Tom knocked on the adjoining door between his room and his uncle's. Not receiving an answer, he pushed the door open and was surprised to find the room empty. He checked the bathroom, but it was also empty, and he quickly ran across the hall to his cousin's room to check to see if his uncle was there. He never noticed that to leave the room he had to open the security lock that could only be accessed by the room's occupant.
Not finding Sam in Shannon's room, they both came back over to Sam's room. It was Shannon who found the note propped up carefully against the flag. She quickly read the missive aloud. In it Sam professed his love for his nieces and nephews but told them that he had to return once more to finish a job undone. "I've marched into hell many times for heavenly causes," the letter said at the end. "Now it's time for me to march into heaven."
The meaning of their uncle's letter remained a mystery to them, and Sam Beckett was never seen again. But in another time and another place, Sam continued to leap from life to life, putting right what once went wrong and ever at his side was his faithful companion and observer, Al.