DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Bellasarius Productions, Vivendi and anyone else involved with Quantum Leap.
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STREET KID
Al jogged through Manhattan at a steady pace. The New York streets were dirty and the sky was covered grey, kind of like the life young Al was leading. He noticed everything around him and could draw diagrams of each neglected alley and side street. It was a special skill that would come to serve him greatly later in his life. He flew past the Jewish delicatessens, past the Irish pubs, down toward the Italian section, the poor Italian section where Saint Paul's Home for Orphans was located. He stared at the building from a full block away. He hated it there, but it had been home off and on for nearly seven years now, half his young life.
At 13, he was one of the older children at St. Paul's. Infants were often adopted. Even the young ones had a chance for a home, but beyond the age of four or five, hope was almost always gone. Most of the boys, when they reached 12 or 13, ran away or joined the seminary. As for the seminary, Al knew he was no priest and that wouldn't happen. Running away was initially his way out. Just after his 10th birthday, a month after the death of his father, Al tried to leave the orphanage behind. It took six days, but he found himself living with a pool shark named Black Magic Walters. It was a great time for the child, but a stunningly beautiful little white boy living with an old black man caught the eyes of the cops and Magic was arrested presumably for playing pool in a whites only pool hall. The boy was sent back to St. Paul's and rather than welcoming home the Prodigal Son, the 10-year-old suffered hateful punishment from Mother Theodora. In front of the other children, each Monday evening for two months, the palms and backs of his hands were slapped hard with a ruler. He was forced to eat dinner at a table alone. Reverend Mother tried to shame him, to make him believe he had no place in the world except the place she decided. The effect was opposite. It did nothing but give him more resolve to show her she was wrong.
There was one nun at the orphanage, Sister Benignus, who saw special qualities in the little fellow. She was able to help him realize the orphanage provided him with something he couldn't get if he was on the streets alone, an education. With her help, he could graduate from high school and maybe, just maybe, if he kept his straight A average, win a college scholarship. He knew he was smart enough. The problem wasn't classes. The problem was the sad aching in his gut that left him empty with his only hope being shadows of dreams for an education and for a life with his sister.
He entered the austere dark building that was his residence; he felt "home" was the wrong word. Sister Benignus was coming down the hall. "Alberto, where have you been?"
"At school."
"There were no extracurricular activities today. Why are you late?"
Lying to Sister Benignus was never an option because he didn't care - much. "I got detention for calling a kid dumb-ass in chemistry."
Sister Benignus was not pleased with the answer. "Why do you do these things? Come with me."
They made their way down the corridor to the chapel. Secretly, Sister Benignus admired his stubborn streak of pride. It was the thing that would let Alberto make something of himself despite his unsettled early life. She stopped at the front pew and pointed for him to go in, which he did. "Now, I want you to pray the rosary to apologize to the Lord for your misconduct today."
"I don't have my rosary with me."
She pulled a string of black beads from her pocket. "I thought that might happen. I stopped by your bed stand and picked it up for you." He took the rosary from her hand, "On your knees, sir."
Since the chapel had no padded kneelers like the church next door, he had to suffer the marble flooring on his bony joints, He looked up at the good sister, but she wasn't going to let him out of this additional detention. Truth was, Sister Benignus was on his side and he knew it. She gave him books, plays, encouraged his studies and interest in the theater, told him he was smart, too smart to be in trouble all the time. This rosary was to teach him that being a smart aleck in school wasn't worthy of him. It was not a lesson he learned easily. This had to be the fourth rosary he'd been forced to say this month.
Al got on his knees and began praying. Sister Benignus whispered, "I'll come get you before dinner. Don't let your mind wander too much." The kind sister didn't realize his dark side. She thought his pranks at school were simply teenage hi-jinks. Not even Sister Benignus knew the depths of despair he felt at being the perpetual outsider.
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Sam was walking home. Actually, he was wandering through the city hoping to come across the street he lived on. In other leaps, when he was confused, Al usually showed up with a bit of information, but Al didn't exist in this reality. Well, Admiral Calavicci didn't. Sam's head ached. He stopped walking, looked around at the foreign country of Manhattan, "Where am I?"
A voice from beyond answered, "About eight blocks from where you live. You need to turn around." St. John had returned.
"Where the hell have you been?"
With petulance St. John sneered, "Did you talk to Al like that?"
"Always. Get me, I mean, Joey home. My . . . his parents are probably worried." They walked along the streets. Sam continued, "You got any more information on Al?"
"Not much. He disappears from the orphanage tomorrow after school."
"Check the enrollment records for Annapolis. He went there for undergraduate school and check MIT. He got his advanced degrees there, a Masters in Electrical Engineering and another in Quantum Mechanics. His PhD is in Astrophysics. He got that after he came home from Vietnam in 1975."
St. John looked puzzled. "1975? American troops were all repatriated earlier than that."
Sam didn't need the reminder. "Not Al. He didn't come home until '75."
Shaking his head, St. John attested, "No one came back from Vietnam after 1973."
"Al did. He helped me save my brother's life and it cost him five years as MIA."
"I'm sorry, but your brother died stepping on a land mine, Sam."
Things were getting all skewed, "No. Tom was killed trying to free American soldiers. Al was one of them. Check his military records. He was a graduate of Annapolis and in the late '70s and early '80s he was an astronaut. He walked on the moon. On the way home, the module lost half its power and he brought it and the crew back in one piece. He got more press than I did for the Nobel Prize. And you're telling me he doesn't exist?"
St. John played with the handlink for a few minutes, "Sam, there is no record of an Alberto Calavicci at Annapolis or NASA. There are no Navy records for him at all." Still playing with the handlink, St. John's face dropped, "Alpha just broke into the New York Times computers. There's a reason why young Mr. Calavicci doesn't get to Vietnam." There was a decided attitude change. Quietly he revealed, "He runs away tomorrow and then he's found on Sunday, barely alive. He dies the following Thursday of his wounds."
"Wounds?" Sam felt a rush of fear and adrenalin. Al was going to die if he didn't succeed in keeping him from running away. "How does he die?"
St. John pushed a few more buttons, "You're not going to like this."
"No kidding."
The new administrator closed his eyes against the horror his handlink described. "He's kidnapped off the streets after he runs away. Some bullies beat him up and then try to kill him. They botch it and he gets away from them, but not until they stab him repeatedly." St. John pushed a button on the handlink, "Sam, I hate this. He's just a boy. They try to slit his throat."
"Oh my God. Do they get the bastards who did it?"
"No one is ever charged. The boy lapses into a coma right after the police find him. He never wakes up. Sorry, Sam. This is a bad one. I don't have any more information for you. I really am sorry about your friend." Seeing Sam's distress and having nothing more to say, St. John decided to exit, "Go north for three more blocks and then east and you'll be home in no time. I'll try to get more information," and the Imaging Chamber swallowed him up and Sam was alone again.
He had too much to think about on his walk home, things like Al's death. He didn't like this leap.
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Al was still on his knees, rosary in his hand when Sister Benignus came back into the chapel. She watched him for almost a minute. She was the only adult around that he trusted. She taught him the power of concentration and focus. It was a lesson he chose to learn well and would thank her for all his life, if he lived beyond the next few days.
"Dinner in five minutes. Let's put your books away and you can change out of your school uniform."
For Sister Benignus' sake and also wishing he actually had real faith to believe in prayer, he made the sign of the cross with the crucifix, kissed the image of Jesus and put the beads in his pocket. "Does Reverend Mother know I got detention?"
"You know Father McManus calls every time you get detention."
He gathered his books, "Why does he do that? She'll make me go to confession. I hate that."
It seemed pretty obvious to her. "Then don't do anything that gets you detention."
"I'll have to serve mass, too."
With a teasing overdramatic voice she said, "Oh, such terrible punishment. Serving mass, how cruel." They left the chapel and started down the hollow sounding corridor.
"Yeah, I know. It's no big deal." They turned the corner going toward the dormitory. "Sister, there's this boy at school. He wants me to help him study chemistry, but I don't want him to come here. Do you think Reverend Mother would allow me to go to his house? His name is Joey O'Brien. He lives in the good flats on the other side of school."
"Is he a friend of yours?"
The question caught Al off guard. He hadn't considered anyone a friend. "He leaves me alone mostly. I guess that means he's a friend."
Sister Benignus sighed and shook her head, "Oh, Alberto, is that how you define a friend?"
"I don't know," and they went into Al's dormitory. She sat on a cot across from his and watched him take out his other uniform, a tee shirt with St. Paul's Home for Orphans across the left breast.
"Alberto, have a seat."
"I'll be late for dinner."
"Don't worry about it. I want to talk to you. Sit down." He sat very straight on the cot, figuring he was going to get chewed out for something or other that he forgot about. "You don't have to look like that. You're not in trouble."
He hunched his shoulders. "You never know."
She laughed, "Alberto, don't you know how blessed you are? God has given you great talent and a most extraordinary mind."
"And the body of a ten year old."
"You're small, but you'll grow. I don't think you'll ever be very big, but give yourself a chance. The true measure of a man isn't height. Alberto, you are a remarkable boy, but you have a great lesson to learn. You have to learn to trust. This boy Joey sounds like he's reaching out to you for help. That means he trusts your judgment and respects your skills. Don't turn away. Now, change your clothes. I'll tell Reverend Mother that I detained you."
Al watched her leave the dorm. He pulled off the clip-on tie and white shirt that identified with St. Patrick's, and pulled over his head the tee shirt that branded him a St. Paul orphan. He hated all the brands he wore because they separated him from other kids. More than life itself, he wanted to be just one of the guys, a normal kid, but he also knew some things were never to be.
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Sam found his apartment building. It was one of the more expensive places around. He took the elevator to his floor, found apartment number 603 and tried the door. It was locked. There was no choice, but to ring the bell. A little girl answered, "You're in trouble now, Joey. Mom expected you home right after your detention!" She stuck her tongue out at him and ran inside. From the living room he heard his mother calling, "Joseph Kevin Fitzpatrick O'Brien, come here please, now."
This kid had more names than anyone ever needed. If Mom was using them all, then he was in big, big trouble. He put his books on the table in the foyer and walked to the voice. A pretty woman sat at a writing table in the corner.
"Why are you so late from school?" Sam confessed Joey's detention. "So I hear. Father McManus called. Joey, you have never gotten a detention before in your life. Why now?"
"It was no big deal, Mom, really. I just sort of swore a little. Nothing really bad."
"Go change and start your homework now, young man. Your father will be home around six which means you have at least an hour of time at the books before dinner. Then you can spend the rest of the evening with those books because you will not watch television or listen to the radio tonight. Got it?"
"Yes Ma'am." Sam stood there.
She stared at him. "You have something to say?"
"Mom, I know this kid. He's really smart. I mean really smart. I'd like to ask him over tomorrow after school to study, is that okay?"
"Who is this genius?"
"His name is Al Calavicci."
"Isn't he the charity case from the Italian orphanage?" Sam hated the description, but he simply nodded. His mother went on, "It just galls me. We pay a lot of money for your tuition and he's there for free."
Sam defended his friend. "But mom, he's an orphan. He doesn't have anyone to pay tuition for him. I like him. He's funny and really smart."
She smiled at Joey, "Okay, anything to get you to study. You can invite him to dinner, if you'd like. He probably hasn't had a home cooked meal in a long time."
"Thanks, Mom!" He gave her a peck on the cheek, ran out of the room and down the hall hoping to find his room without too much trouble.
His mother called after him, "Start your homework and don't let your sister in your room. She's in hot water, too."
Sam saw a "Do Not Enter" sign and figured that was his place. He burst into the room and he had called it right.
A small desk was cluttered with papers and teenage boy stuff. Joey's mother wanted him to do his homework so he thought he'd start. A spot was cleared off and Sam opened the books he'd brought home. Checking his assignments for the night, he saw he had algebra, chemistry, history and English. Having the chance to study was a rare treat, even if it was stuff he did at the age of eight.
A half hour passed and he was done with the math and chemistry. The trickiest part was getting enough of the work wrong to maintain Joey's standing as an average student. The door to his room opened and he turned to see a man standing there wearing a hospital coat with "Dr. O'Brien" stitched over the pocket. The resemblance to Joey was uncanny. "Hi, Dad. I'm just doing my homework here."
His father didn't seem to have much of a sense of humor. "Why didn't you do it in detention hall today? I hear Father McManus called about you being disrespectful. Is this true?"
Sam flashed back to his own father's tongue lashings. "I guess I said something I shouldn't have, but it wasn't a big deal. Really. I'm sorry."
"That makes it okay?"
"No, I won't do it again. It's just that this kid made me . . . I guess he made me frustrated and the word slipped out."
"Your mother also says you want to invite an orphan boy here tomorrow."
The array of references to his friend began to get on Sam's nerves. "His name is Al Calavicci. He's going to help me with my chemistry."
"Since he's coming to study and your mother gave you permission already I won't say no, but you're grounded this weekend. Understand?" Sam nodded. "Wash up. It's time for dinner."
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Meals at St. Paul's were served cafeteria style. Al came in late and nearly 100 pairs of eyes watched him go through the food line alone. His seat was open and he said nothing as he sat down to his cold dinner. The gray meat and congealed vegetables weren't very appealing. After a few bites, he put his fork down and waited for dismissal. Reverend Mother Theodora stood up for the final prayer. She surveyed the silent children and began, "I think tonight one of you will say our closing prayer. Alberto, you will lead us."
Despite knowing better, Al stood up slowly; so slowly that all understood his indifference to the request. He finally made the sign of the cross and began, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Our Father. . ." and the prayer continued with all joining the recitation. He sat down as slowly as he stood. His small act of rebellion wasn't lost on the Reverend Mother and her request that he see her after dinner was not unexpected.
The children filed out in an orderly fashion, leaving young Alberto behind to face whatever music Reverend Mother was going to play. The empty room held him and Reverend Mother, she at her table and he at his. She said nothing, simply waiting for him to come to her. He didn't. A full minute of defiance went by. Finally, "Alberto, come now."
When he arrived, she stood and began to walk out of the room. An unspoken command was made. He followed her to the office. They went inside and he closed the door behind them.
This woman struck fear into the hearts of all the children. She was quick with punishment and from his years of experience, usually it was painful. A wooden paddle on display was used on perpetrators of wrong. Unlike Sister Benignus and most of the other gentle and kind nuns, Theodora did not see gold in this recalcitrant boy. As far as she was concerned, he was simply one of the older ones setting a bad example for the younger ones. She addressed him, "Explain yourself."
He wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. "What do you mean, Reverend Mother?"
"Your behavior is out of hand." Al knew the best thing to do was keep his mouth shut, take the punishment and get another lesson in distrust. She started in on the litany of his latest sins. His penitent stance and facial expressions were all rehearsed and he turned them on and off at will. After all, he was an actor or at least he might like to be. It usually wasn't until the weapon was drawn that he started paying attention. Today, he was involved too deeply in his own thoughts and he wasn't expecting the weapon of choice to be Mother Theodora's hand. She viciously backhanded him across his face. The small teen reeled against the blow. The surprise hurt almost as much as the growing bruise on his under his eye. "You will listen to me. Do you understand?"
His attention was fully tuned into his persecutor, "Yes, Reverend Mother."
"I have been talking to Father McManus. He says you disrupt nearly every class you attend."
How could he tell her that he had some bad moments at school, but not nearly as many as McManus accused him of and that he didn't have to do much to get detention. Other boys got away with far more than he did, but they were the boys whose families could afford tuition. A smart, little Italian orphan that all grownups insisted on calling "Alberto" instead of "Al" didn't have a chance. Father McManus hated him and it was reciprocated, but being the bright boy he was Al immediately surrendered to the accusation, "If he says I do, then I guess I do."
"Alberto, next Monday, you are going to enter the seminary." He stared at her in disbelief. "I don't think you'll be much of a priest, but it will be a career for you and the discipline will do you good."
His worst fear was happening. "Reverend Mother, I'm not the kind of boy to be a priest."
"Don't you believe in the faith?"
He had sense enough to answer her question by changing the subject. "It takes a special kind of person to be a priest. I'm not that special."
"That's true. Sister Benignus keeps trying to tell me you are, but you have not shown it to me. The seminary will make a priest of you, special or not." She walked to the bookshelf behind her desk and took the wooden paddle down.
"But you already hit me," he said as he touched the purple mark she left on his cheekbone.
"Hands." and he held them out. Just like she had done when he was ten years old, she delivered five full blows to each palm. She ordered him, "Over" His eyes never left her face as he turned his hands knuckles up. She delivered another five blows to each hand and nothing more was said. She opened the door and invited him to leave.
Al put his hurt hands to his side, left the office and made his way back to the chapel. It was the only place where he could be alone. He entered the dimly lit room and walked to the front pew. Kneeling down, he clasped his hands in prayer and finally saw the damage. The skin was broken and blood still flowed from three gashes. The others already clotted dry. He whispered, "God, please get me away from here. Help me find Trudy so we can run away together. If you can't help me, then let me die, please. You can even send me to hell. It can't be worse than this." A drop of blood fell from his hands onto the floor, but still no tears fell from his eyes. "Why am I praying? You never listen to me. You don't care. You never did and you never will." Whispering in the kind of pain that comes from desperation he said, "Damn You. Damn everyone."
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