Muzzy-headed and cotton-tongued, Sam awoke in a strange bed. Nothing unusual about that. Since he'd begun Leaping, he'd woke in any number of strange beds, some of them stranger than others... He lay still for a moment more, blinking as the memory of his arrival flooded back. He had a lot of questions and no answers. In other words, a normal Leap. With a sigh, he sat up and squinted at his surroundings. Al was still nowhere in sight.
Unfortunately, there was nothing unusual about that, either.
Well, he couldn't lie around all day. Throwing back the covers, Sam started up from the bed -- and was astonished to find himself clad in a long dress of the type more normally associated with costume dramas than with everyday wear. At first, he thought it might simply be an odd style of nightgown, but closer inspection disproved the theory. It was a dress, all right, with full skirts that reached swirled around his ankles.
Curiouser and curiouser...
He'd certainly never felt more like Alice. But what rabbit-hole had he tumbled down this time?
He moved quietly to the door. The soft rustle of his skirts was loud in his ears. Distracted by the strange clothing, Sam opened the door -- and almost collided with the woman who had so thoughtfully sedated him the night before. She regarded him with shrewd green eyes.
"Victoria...You're awake, I see. How are you feeling?"
"A...bit disoriented, " he said. It seemed a safe enough answer. It was certainly a truthful one.
"That's understandable." Her gaze flickered over his dress. "I expect you would like to freshen up in your own room."
Sam nodded, wondering where he'd woken up if not Victoria's bedroom. The doctor steered him in what he had to assume was be the proper direction. Not having much choice in the matter, Sam followed.
His companion slid another gaze at him, as if trying to decide whether or not to speak. Finally, she said, "Victoria, how much do you remember...about what happened?"
Sam didn't know what she was talking about, but he knew an out when it was handed to him. "Not much, " he said sincerely. "Almost nothing, in fact."
She seemed relieved, an odd reaction, he thought. She paused at what was presumably his bedroom door. "I want to see you later, Victoria, and give you a medical examination to make certain there are no lingering ill effects. If you should remember anything, anything at all, you must come to me, at once."
She didn't wait for an answer, apparently certain Victoria would obey without question. Sam frowned. Victoria might have no questions for the good doctor, but he wasn't Victoria. He had plenty of questions and no one to ask.
He retreated into the quiet stillness of Victoria's bedroom. It was large and pleasant, furnished with well-cared-for antiques. Curious, he hunted a mirror and found one in the dressing room connecting bed and bath. Standing before the full-length glass, he got his first real look at his host.
Huge in a wan, exhausted face, her brown eyes peered back at him from the glass. A cloud of brunette hair framed a delicate, heart-shaped face. He touched his fingers to one pale cheek, the clinical portion of his mind noting the dark circles shadowing her eyes. There was a weariness, a haunted quality about her, as if recent events had not been kind.
"Who are you, Victoria?" he whispered. Not surprisingly, the reflection had no answer. Neither did Sam -- and Al still hadn't made an appearance. He glanced down at his strange attire. That, at least, he could do something about.
A short time later, he emerged from the bathroom wrapped in the oversized terry robe he'd found hanging on the back of the door. A quick rummage in the closet turned up fresh clothing -- modern clothing, he was relieved to see.
With a sigh for the necessity of grappling with feminine underpinnings, he dressed, pulling on comfortable faded jeans and a cable-knit sweater. He slipped his feet into a pair of flat shoes. He had no intention of subjecting himself to heels unless forced at gunpoint.
He wondered again about the dress. Why had Victoria been wearing it? None of the others had been in costume. Who were these people? What was he here to set right? It was all part of the mystery, he supposed, but right now he'd prefer some easy answers to the challenge of solving the riddle.
Lost in thought, Sam wandered over to the dressing table. He was relieved to see a minimum of beauty paraphernalia; he hated make-up, and found wearing it a degrading experience. With a shudder, he reached for a hairbrush.
It was then that he saw the music box, nestled among the cosmetic pots and jars.
It was lovely: gold and silver, with a jeweled lid. If the stones were genuine, it was probably quite valuable and something about it suggested antiquity. Carefully, he lifted the lid, liberating a delicate melody--a minuet. The music stirred something inside him, a sense memory buried deep within his host body. Disturbed without knowing why, he replaced the lid, stilling the music. A welcome, if belated, voice interrupted his reverie.
"Sam?"
He spun to confront the holographic representation of the Project Observer. Admiral Albert Calavicci was resplendent in shimmering fuschia and silver, tastefully accented with a genuine neon tie that flashed on and off as Sam, momentarily too stunned for words, watched. He wasn't sure if Al was a sight for sore eyes -- or merely an eyesore. But Sam was glad to see him.
"It's about time you got here," Sam griped, keeping his voice low in case of eavesdroppers. "Where have you been, anyway?"
Plucking a fresh cigar from one silver pocket, Al ignored the outburst and pretended to ogle Sam. At least, Sam hoped he was pretending. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell.
"Not bad, Sam, if you don't mind me saying."
"I do mind." Sam said firmly. "So cut it out and tell me what I'm here to do."
"Well..." Sticking the cigar in the corner of his mouth, Al consulted the glowing handlink. "You're in Collinsport, Maine. You work for the Collins family as a...A tut? " He paused to shake the mechanism, then gave it a vigorous whack. Lights danced across the multicolored surface. "Oh, tutor. A tutor for David Collins...and you are, ah, Victor? That can't be right."
Al administered another sound thumping to the 'link, his usual percussive maintenance, a technique that made Sam wince. Before Al could damage the machine -- or more likely his hand -- Sam furnished the information himself. "Victoria."
"Right, right. Victoria, ah, Winters." The Observer stopped glaring at the tiny screen and flashed a triumphant look at Sam. "You're Victoria Winters."
"I think we've established that, " Sam said, impatiently. "My name is Victoria Winters. Great. Now what year is it and why am I here?"
The smile slid off Al's face. "Ah, you see, Sam..."
Sam was getting that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Looked like it was going to be one of those Leaps. He sighed. "Can you at least tell me the date?"
"March 15, 1991," Al supplied readily enough. And that was all he supplied. Sam sighed again.
"So what do I have to set right?"
Silence. A sudden suspicion clenched Sam's gut. "You don't know, do you?"
The Observer's sudden refusal to meet his gaze was all the confirmation Sam needed. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "You don't know. You have no earthly idea what it is that I'm supposed to do!"
"Not exactly, no," Al admitted, then hastily made placating gestures. "I'm sure we'll come up with something. Soon. It's just that -- "
Sam thumped the dressing table with his fist. "I knew it!"
"We're trying, Sam! But there's something damn screwy about this family. About this whole damn place. We do know it's called Collinwood." Al gestured helplessly with the handlink. "Ziggy's working on it, okay? Round the clock. But the probability fields keep shimmying like a go-go dancer's hips. Best guess at this point is it has something to do with Victoria Winters."
Since Sam currently was Victoria Winters, that seemed a pretty safe bet. "I could've told you that, " he groused, shaking his head. "What does Ziggy say about -- "
A polite rap on the door silenced him, mid-sentence. Both he and the hologram turned as the door opened a crack and someone peered inside. Glad to have a task he could actually accomplish, Al supplied the pertinent information. "That's Elizabeth Collins...Stoddard. She owns this pile of rocks and is the matriarch of the Collins clan."
He indicated the second woman with a sweep of his hand. "Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper. We don't have much on her."
Elizabeth was first to speak. "My dear, Julia told me you were awake. And I had to see for myself that you're all right."
Sensing her genuine concern, he returned her smile. "I'm fine."
"Do you feel up to some breakfast? Mrs. Johnson prepared a tray for you."
A second woman, in the prim black dress and no-nonsense bun of a domestic, came forward with a laden tray which she placed on the nightstand beside the bed. "It's just tea, juice, toast and jam," she said. "If you want
anything else, you just ask, Miss Winters."
"That sounds fine." Sam's stomach rumbled loudly and he essayed a sheepish grin. "I guess I'm hungry."
"I'm sure that's a good sign, dear." Elizabeth patted his arm lightly. "After you've eaten, be sure to see Dr. Hoffman. We mustn't take chances with your health. Not when we've only just gotten you back."
"Of...course." Sam wondered what exactly he was agreeing to. A quick glance at Al told him that the Observer was equally clueless, never a good sign.
Elizabeth continued, "Carolyn will continue to look after David until you've fully recovered. I don't want you worrying about a thing."
"Thank you, Mrs. Stoddard."
Surprise flickered across the woman's worn but still attractive features. "I've asked you to call me 'Elizabeth', dear. There's no need to be so formal."
Caught off guard, Sam stuttered, "I guess I...forgot. Just for a moment."
The two women exchanged glances. "I suppose you're still a bit shaken."
"I guess so," Sam said, nervously.
"Well, we'll leave you to your breakfast, " Elizabeth said. She paused in the doorway. "Don't forget about Dr. Hoffman."
"I won't," he promised. Beside him, Al shuddered dramatically.
"Doctors," the Observer said, with distaste. "Nothing worse. Unless it's a shrink. " He chewed thoughtfully on his cigar. "Of course, playing doctor is another kettle of fish. I remember this one time in Honolulu--"
With a last worried glance, the women departed, leaving Sam alone with the Observer. Interrupting Al's lascivious reminiscence, Sam demanded, "What the heck is going on here, Al?"
Al tried, without much success, to look innocent. "What do you mean?"
"For starters, since when do doctors in 1991 make house-calls?"
The handlink gave an electronic burp, drawing their attention. Al scanned the data scrolling onto the screen, one dark eyebrow rising at what he found. "Apparently, she lives here."
Sam threw his hands up. "And that's not strange?"
"I told you," Al said, shifting the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Everything about this place is strange."
Finally heeding the urgings of his stomach, Sam perched on the edge of the mattress and retrieved a slice of toast. "I appreciate your difficulties, Al. Now try to appreciate mine. Until I have some real idea of what's going on
here, I'm flying blind. If I just blunder around, I could end up doing more harm than good."
"I know that, Sam, but -- "
A firm rap on the door interrupted him. Both men turned and watched as the doctor entered the room, her black bag in hand, having apparently decided not to rely on her patient coming to her. She nodded approval at the toast in Sam's hand. "You're eating. Good." She crossed to the bed and set her bag on the coverlet. "Ready for you examination?"
Sam shared an uneasy look with Al. "Uh, I guess so."
She nodded briskly. "Let's have a look at you, then. I want to make certain there are no ill effects from the time travel."
Sam nearly bit his tongue. He heard raucous coughing, and looked around to see Al brushing tobacco flakes from his shirt front; the Observer had bitten through his cigar. Recovering, he gestured wildly at Sam. "What'd I tell you? Screwy!"
He took a closer look at Dr. Hoffman. "Not bad. Nice gams and great -- "
Sam quelled him with a sour look. Another meaningful look convinced Al to play the gentleman; the Observer turned his back as the doctor began her examination.
"You seem fine," she said after a bit. "Blood pressure is slightly elevated...And you're a tad malnourished. I'm going to give you a vitamin shot."
When she'd gone, Sam slumped back against the headboard and rubbed his suddenly aching temples. "'Malnourished'? What's that all about?"
From somewhere, Al had conjured a fresh cigar. He rolled it meditatively between thumb and forefinger. "Did I hear right? She did say 'time travel'?"
He walked over to the window and made a show of examining the view. "You don't suppose they have a Quantum Accelerator tucked away in the basement?"
Sam refused to dignify that with a comment. Instead, he groaned. "Can't you tell me anything useful?"
"Here's what we have on Victoria Winters." Al read from the handlink, "She was born in January of 1966, and abandoned a few weeks later. Grew up in an orphanage in New York." He scowled, remembering his own troubled childhood, in and out of orphanages. "How can people do that to their kids?"
"Any idea who the parents are?"
Snapping out of his funk, Al shook his head. "No, and we don't know much else, either. At least not that seems relevant to the Leap. Schooling, early work history, boyfriends...Nothing out of the ordinary."
"So what changed?"
"She came to Collinwood," Al said grimly.
Sam watched him expectantly. "And?"
"She killed herself."