Chapter Four – 10:30 a.m.
The Imaging Chamber door opened up on the widow's-walk and Al entered — snickering.
"Well," he drawled. "Appearing . . . disappearing . . . I thought that was my gig! You must be pleased with yourself, buddy!"
Sam eyed the smaller man in the lime green suit standing in front of him. "You could have warned me!" he said, clearly embarrassed.
"That's what you get for using that same tired excuse over and over again!" said Al, chuckling. "Do you know how tired I get of talking to you in the head? Serves you right!"
Sam sighed. "Al . . . we really don't have time for this . . . Who or what am I? What can you tell me?"
"What do you know already?" Al asked, trying to speed up the process.
Sam exhaled loudly. "Well, I know my name is Captain Gregg — "
"Captain Daniel Gregg," Al interrupted.
"Do you want to tell me, or do you want me to tell you?" Sam said testily. "Make up your mind!"
"Sorry, buddy. " Al apologized. "We didn't get a neuro-lock on you as fast this time, and I forgot you might have actually have had a chance to do some of your own scut-work."
"It's all right, Al." Sam said, as he looked out toward the bay, "What took so darn long, anyway?"
"It's just that we had a little trouble tuning into your frequency this time, that's all. Ziggy won't say what she thinks the problem was. Personally, I think it has to do with the . . . Uhh . . . person you leaped into. Doesn't matter now, I guess. We have a good lock on you now, anyway." Sam turned and looked at his holographic comrade.
"I know my name is Captain Daniel Gregg. I think the date is somewhere around March 13th or 14th, 1970. I know that the blonde woman down in the kitchen is Carolyn Muir and the older woman is 'Martha — somebody — "
"Grant," Al interjected.
"Grant," Sam added, frowning. "The little girl is 'Candy' and the little boy is 'Jonathan.' Nice kids . . . and, yeah, the dog's name is Scruffy, and he likes me, which is really nice!" Sam stopped, and stared at his friend. "But, if I've got this right, and I think I do . . . Al, is it possible? That woman, Carolyn . . . last night — she said I was a GHOST!" He paced up and down. "Al . . . am I a ghost?"
"Booooo!" said Al, waiving his arms in the air and grinning, "Good job, kid . . . you've got the basics! Now let me fill you in on the rest of it."
Al walked over to the widow's-walk railing and looked at the view of the ocean.
"It's pretty here," he remarked. "I'd forgotten what a beautiful area of the country Maine is. Guess I've been stuck in the desert too long. It's March 14, 1970." He paused. "You know, you don't leap into this period in time very often. Last time you did, you were in Vietnam — then there was that time you were an Indian — "
"Al — " Sam began.
"I know, I know . . ." Al punched a few of the glowing cubes on his handlink. "I was just thinking . . . I was still a POW in 1970. It's nice to get a good view of what 'back home' looked like then . . ." His voice trailed off.
"Al, I'm sorry . . ." Sam began again.
"Don't interrupt." he growled, turning his back on Sam for a moment, and then turned to face his friend again. "You're right," he repeated. "It's March 14, 1970 and your name is Captain Daniel Elias Alexander Gregg. You were born in, we think, in 1825. Ziggy is a little hazy on that one, and we haven't confirmed it with Captain Gregg yet. You ran away to sea when you were around fourteen years old. Ziggy says Gregg is a self-educated man and he . . . you, became Captain of your first ship before you were thirty years old. You also fought in the Mexican War. Somewhere along the line you designed and built this house. It was considered to be a real showplace in its time . . . you . . . he used all the best materials to build it, and it's really stood up well, considering how much neglect there has been to it in the last hundred years or so. Your great-nephew, Claymore Gregg, who you refuse to admit is your nephew, by the way, currently owns this house, and hasn't spent any more money for repairs on it than absolutely necessary. You and Claymore don't get along very well. Think about Gooshie with a Scrooge complex. Gregg was considered a hero, even in his own time." Al paused and punched a few more buttons on the handlink and continued.
"This Claymore Gregg guy rents Gull Cottage to Carolyn Muir, the lady you met downstairs. She's a widow, by the way. Her husband Robert . . ." He slapped the handlink again, ". . . . or Richard . . . don't know which — don't worry about that, he's not important anyway — died six years ago in Philadelphia. Car accident. She lives here at Gull Cottage with her two children and her housekeeper. Like I said, she's a writer. Magazines, short stories, newspaper articles, you know, feature stuff. One story, 'Maiden Voyage,' in a now-defunct magazine called 'Feminine View,' made a big splash, but she never followed that one up with any other stories like it. No novels or anything like that. The family has lived here almost two years." Al paused as he lit a cigar.
Sam looked at his friend. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"About who? Carolyn Muir?"
"No . . . about Captain Gregg."
"Oh, yeah . . ." Al punched another series of buttons on his handlink. "You . . . he . . . died November 13, 1869. A suicide . . ."
"Suicide??!" Sam exclaimed.
"Only it wasn't a suicide after all . . ." Al continued smoothly. "Seems it was an accident with the gas heater that brought about your . . . his death. There was a front-page story about the mistake made in 1869 that called it a suicide. The retraction was published locally first . . . then it was picked up by all the wire services. It was kinda cool really . . . he had been a real hero of this town . . . that's Schooner Bay, Maine by the way — and it was good for the town to have his name cleared." Al grinned. "It was probably nice for HIM too — getting everything straightened out after a hundred years!" He punched another button. "Ziggy says the retraction clearing Captain Gregg of suicide was published last year though . . . so that can't be why you're here!"
"But Al . . . why AM I here? Why is Gregg here for that matter? Are you really telling me I have leaped into a ghost? How? Why?"
"You leaped into a VAMPIRE once, buddy!"
"We never were able to really prove that Al . . ."
"Well, you're definitely a ghost . . ." Al shrugged.
"Al, I can't be a ghost. There has to be another explanation!"
"Why can't you be a ghost? You materialized yourself from the kitchen to up here without any trouble!"
Sam rolled his eyes, and looked at his friend. "Well, that's true . . . " he replied, "But since when can ghosts make contact?" Sam asked.
"Whaddya mean? Make contact?" responded Al.
"This morning . . ." Sam took a deep breath. "This morning . . . I had a cup of coffee, bacon and pancakes for breakfast. I gave the dog a belly rub . . . no one downstairs thought it was strange . . . " He faced the bay again. "And early this morning, I did this!" And he slammed his fists on the widow's-walk railing.
"You're right Sam — that is weird. But everything indicates you ARE a ghost. We have established that the man . . . uhh . . . spirit . . . spectre . . . in the Waiting Room is Daniel Gregg — and history places his death in 1869. It's a matter of public record. And he's in the Waiting Room . . . and you're here . . . and you look like him . . . that makes you a ghost." Al shrugged again. "Face it — you're him! Have you tried to ACT like a ghost?"
"What? Waive my arms and moan?" Sam said, sarcastically.
"No, Sam . . . " Al retorted, "Get serious, okay?"
Sam looked doubtful. "You mean, concentrate and then walk through a wall or something? Like in that movie . . . what do you call it . . . ?"
Al rolled his eyes again and tried to be patient with his friend. "Yeah, Sam . . . the movie . . . 'Ghost.'"
"No . . ."
"Well, try it!!!" Al exploded.
Sam concentrated, and raised his hand over the banister of the widow's-walk. Slowly, his hand came down and passed through the banister.
"Al . . . " Sam paused, "I did it! I really AM a ghost!" Sam started moving around the widow's-walk — appearing and disappearing several times, sinking into the floor and rising back up and floating above the ground. "Whoo-hoo!" said Sam. "This is fun! Maybe we can try a boxing match — hologram against spirit! Whaddya say?"
"Sounds like a blast . . ." Al said, "But we still have a problem . . ."
"Let me guess . . ." Sam snorted, "Ziggy has no idea why I am here. So what else is new?"
"We're working on it!" Al shot back. "I don't like the idea much, but we may have to 'pump' this Gregg guy . . ."
"Do you do that a lot?" Sam asked, wonderingly. Because of the 'Swiss Cheese' leaping effect, Sam's memories changed from leap to leap, and Albert Calavicci found himself having to relay information garnered in his time to his friend more than once . . . when he was allowed to, that is. There was a lot that Sam didn't remember about his own time that Al couldn't tell him.
"Sometimes, buddy." Al replied. "Sometimes, it helps . . ." His voice trailed off, not wanting to give away too many details about what was happening in the world that Sam left when he started 'leaping' five years before.
"Well, do it if you have to." Sam said. "I have a feeling this is gonna get kinda strange. So far, Candy, Jonathan and Martha haven't noticed anything different — except for my 'bathroom' slip maybe. But Mrs. Muir . . . Carolyn . . . I don't know what to CALL her even. She kept looking at me during breakfast. I think she may have noticed that something is up. I'm not sure. Just figure out what I'm supposed to be doing here, okay?"
"We're working on it, Sam. In the meantime, try to avoid using her name at all." Al scratched his head. "Hang out with the kids — take a walk — explore the house — you're a ghost for Pete's sake — just . . . lurk — okay? Ziggy says you can make yourself invisible to anyone you don't want to see you and visible to anyone you do, by thinking it — just like you can do with the solid/not solid thing. So just avoid Carolyn Muir . . . or at least calling her by name . . . until we can figure a few other things out, okay?"
"Okay, Al," said Sam, doubtfully,". . . But I have a feeling that this is not going to work . . ."
Al punched a series of buttons on the handlink and the Imaging Chamber door opened. He stepped through it, and it closed behind him, leaving Sam alone on the widow's-walk.