A/N- The Evil Leaper is sort of a mystery, isn't she? We know she's from the future, has a hologram named Zoey, and an AI named Lothos. But how did she end up in the time travel experiment, and what happened to her after 'Revenge'? The show doesn't answer these questions. But I've been wanting to try for a long time now. So here goes!
Disclaimer- I don't own Alia or any of the other characters from the TV show Quantum Leap. I also do not own much of the future dialogue. It all belongs to Belisarius Productions and Don Belisario.
-Also, I do not own the book Alia describes in this chapter. It is called Uptime, Downtime, and was written by John Peel.
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Chapter 1- Memories"If you want to get seriously weird about it, doesn't the past become now when you're in the process of remembering it?" –From Knights of the Morningstar, written by Melanie Rawn
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Memories. That's all I have, now. Memories. My own life, back when I had a life. And bits and pieces of other lives. When I'm waiting for a new assignment, that's all they leave me with.
My memory isn't the most reliable one, especially when I'm on assignment. Usually, a lot of my own life is missing. At best there are gaps in what I remember. A friend of mine once said that our memories are like Swiss cheese, with holes where knowledge should be. I agree with him.
But when I'm not on assignment, I can remember everything. I learned to escape into the past; it helps to deal with the pain of the present. Even if the memory isn't one I especially want to relive, at least it's mine…
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"Alia, girl, get in here! Clean up this mess!"
I sighed, shutting my book closed. Dad had been like this ever since four years ago, when he lost his job. He was clumsy when he drunk, and he expected me to clean up after him. If I didn't, there were consequences. So I always obeyed.
Oh, it wasn't like he'd hit me. He only did that a few times, until Mom threatened to divorce. But when he yelled at me I just couldn't bear it. I knew the term for it- verbal abuse. But I didn't like to think of it. Besides, as soon as I finished cleaning up, I could get back to my book.
I loved to read. I started reading soon after Dad started drinking, to escape. I'd just lie on my bed and read all day, and never have to bother with Dad. That is, unless he wanted me to clean things up for him, like today, or if he was especially drunk. Then I couldn't get out of his way no matter what I did.
Reading wasn't just a means of escape, though. I actually enjoyed it. I liked science fiction and fantasy the best, but I read anything I could get my hands on. Just to get away from Dad. I was especially interested in time travel.
I read a book once about five orphaned kids who could travel through time just by thinking about it, because they had no ties to a home. They made a home with each other, in the time of the pioneers, and supported each other. That is, until two of the children realized that they had foster parents who loved them and who would take the other abandoned kids in. They ended up living together in one big happy family. A happy ending. Life isn't full of happy endings. Not like books. Maybe that's why I enjoyed them so much.
I trudged out into the living room, where Dad was waiting.
"Cup flew. Out of my hand. Clean it up," he ordered, pointing to the glass on the ground.
As I rummaged in the closet for the broom, I wondered why Mom hadn't thought to buy plastic glasses from now on. Maybe it hadn't crossed her mind. After all, she had been busy at work. When Dad couldn't get another job, Mom ended up working overtime. I hardly ever saw her anymore.
When the glass was safely in the garbage, I turned in relief. Now I could escape.
Or not.
"Pour meh anudder drink," Dad slurred, collapsing into his lounge chair.
I turned quickly around and hurried to do as he asked. The bottle was half empty, and I had the sickening feeling that he'd opened it just this morning. Maybe, if I hurried, he'd forget about me. I hoped.
I poured the drink into a plastic cup this time, so he couldn't break it by throwing it on the floor. But when I handed it to him, he stared at it, eyes swimming and said, "Thus usn'ta glauss." His voice rose. "Yur so stupid ya dun't know whata glauss is?" He shouted.
I backed away slowly, before the full assault began.
"Yar worthless! I alus told yur mother yeh was worthless!"
Unable to take it anymore, I turned and fled.
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'As Sara walked home, with her box tucked under her arm, she looked up at the stars and thought she saw a white bird flying. But maybe it was only a dream.'
I threw my pencil down on the table, satisfied with the ending lines of my book. Perfect.
Taking another piece of paper from my pile, I wrote, Time Fluke, by Alia Heaton, 10 years old. The title of my book, my name, and age.
I was going to enter it in a Young Author's contest, and I was sure I would win something. My book was great! And when Mom and Dad saw the award I got, they would be so proud. I desperately wanted that.
I'd wanted to be an author ever since I could read. Authors helped you escape to places- wonderful places! And that was what I wanted to do.
I paper-clipped the pages of my book together, and shoved it underneath the mattress. I hadn't told Mom and Dad about this yet, because I wanted it to be a surprise. And, deep inside, I was afraid maybe I wouldn't win. If I didn't, I didn't want my parents to be disappointed in me. I could be disappointed enough for myself.
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That was a happy memory. I remember being proud and confident in myself. Unfortunately, Dad spoiled it later. Or maybe Mom did, by allowing him to find my story. I'm not sure who to blame, anymore.
Mom did some house cleaning, and changed the sheets. She left my story on my dresser. And Dad, the snoop, found it.
I didn't know until later that evening, when Dad and some drinking buddies were sitting in the living room. Dad had wandered out there with my papers after he found it, and noticed it again when he spilled a bit of his drink on it. He picked it up and began reading it aloud.
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I tried to stay in my room and concentrate on my book, but it was so hard! Dad had invited some friends over, and they were being awfully loud in the living room. Finally I tiptoed out there to see what they were talking about.
I heard Dad say, "The burd wes white ull uver, 'cept fer th' crest un 'ts head, whuch was golden." That was when my world stopped turning. He was reading my book!
I stood there, listening in mute horror as Dad destroyed it, word by word, page by page. I couldn't go out there and stop him. I just couldn't.
When he finally finished with me book, he tossed it over his head and exclaimed, "Wut a wunnerful writer ma daughter is!" The men in the living room cracked up once more, as I turned, sobbing, from the room. Daddy wasn't proud of me at all.
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That ended my career as a writer. I never told Mom, who had still been at work during the episode. I don't think Dad had noticed I was in the room at all.