This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like Street Kid, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, Macy is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

Macy - Chapter Four

The monitors in the Command Center let the team at the Project see Al's part of the preceding events and hear his request. They were furious with attempts to free him from the Imaging Chamber. Gooshie was playing with a PC not tied into Ziggy. Lillian was frightened to try and open the panels covering Ziggy's guts. She saw what the hybrid computer had done to Al and unlike the military man, she wasn't used to pain. It scared her to think Ziggy could be so out of control that she would attack them.

Verbena paced. Not being a computer person, all she could do was worry. The terrifying sight of Al be electrocuted by his lifeline back to the Project was a lot to deal with. As it turned out, she could bark orders almost as well as Al, "I don't care what you have to do. Get him out of there!"

Gooshie had enough trouble on his hands. "Dr. Beeks, we're trying, but if we're not careful, the Admiral and Sam could both die."

Verbena was worried about Al. "Ziggy, give me the medical status of Admiral Calavicci."

"Admiral Calavicci has first, second, and possibly third degree burns on his left hand and lower arm. Neurological and muscle damage may extend upwards from the burn. Pulse is fluctuating, varying from approximately 75 to 100 beats per minute. Respiration is steady at 27 per minute. Body temperature is 96.6 degrees. No other medical information can be discerned at this time."

None of it sounded good to Verbena. Al was in trouble. His body temperature was too low, the arrhythmia was a sign his heart might be damaged. She had managed to put juice and crackers in the medicine chest, but that wouldn't hold his hypoglycemia for long. Without attention, more attention than Al alone could give, his hand would be infected within a few hours. "Ziggy, monitor Admiral Calavicci's vital signs every hour and report them to me immediately."

Lillian overheard Ziggy's recitation. She quietly and fearfully took Verbena's arm, "Doctor Beeks, Is the Admiral going to be alright?"

Verbena looked into her big, concerned eyes, "If you and Gooshie don't get him out of there soon, he's in trouble." She realized she needed to make a phone call that she sure as hell never wanted to make. For too many times she'd practiced the speech, but having to really use it. Beth Calavicci needed to know her husband was in danger.

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Al spent the next few hours in restless sleep. He woke at 5:45 and took a look at the mess his hand was becoming. No one needed to see it. Gently, he pulled his hand from his shirt and tucked the shirt and jacket sleeves into his breast pocket. It gave him a Napoleonic look that made him laugh a little. The burned hand was maneuvered into a position where it was somewhat supported and out of view. Waiting until six to have Ziggy center him on the front bedroom of the Haller home, he found Macy sleeping on the floor, a box of band-aids in her hand. He had to smile at the affection the little red head was giving him. He thought about Gia, Toni, Peri and Allie, his perfect little, well, now grown girls. They were safe and happy, but this little one needed help. Sitting down next to her, he whispered, "Good morning, Sweetheart."

The hazel eyes opened slowly. She yawned and looked at Al, "You came back like you promised. I knew you would, Sebastian."

"I never break promises to my friends. Why don't you go back to your bed. It's still early and it can't be comfortable sleeping on the floor." Al listened to the vertebrae in his neck crackle.

"I want to stay with you."

Al was convinced that this leap was all about Macy and since Ziggy was not being cooperative, staying with Macy would be a good way to gather information. "I'm going to stay, but I want you to get your rest. You're still a little girl."

In typical childlike fashion, Macy changed the subject in the blink of an eye. "Would you listen to me play the piano? I like playing the piano. Mommy says I'm good."

"I love piano music. I wish I played the piano. What's your favorite song?"

"Mommy's teaching me a Sonata by Mozart. It's hard, but I like it a lot. What's your favorite song?"

Al had to think. "Well, I like a piece by Liszt called the La Campanella. It's really hard, though. You like other music?"

Macy had to think. "My Daddy sings me a song that's funny."

Al smiled, "A funny song? Sing it for me."

She started in, "Show me the way to go home. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. I had a little drink about any hour ago and it went right to my head."

He couldn't stop the laughter that welled up inside him. He knew the song. It was standard military issue along with uniforms and boots. He joined her for the rest of the song, "Wherever you may roam, on land or sea, or foam, you can always hear me singing this song, Show me the way to go home." They laughed together. "Your daddy taught you that?" She nodded. "Well, that's some song."

"Your turn. You sing me a song."

Al had to admit that the voice that helped get him a job with a road company of West Side Story was now a raspy relic, but he wanted this child's trust. After thinking of his repertoire and trying to remember when things were written, he remembered a Gershwin song he liked a lot. "Okay. I got one. George and Ira Gershwin wrote it. Ever hear of them?"

"George Gershwin wrote Rhapsody in Blue. I'm going to learn that someday."

For some reason, he didn't doubt her. "That's the guy. Okay, here's my song," and Al began to sing, "There's a somebody I'm longing to see. I hope that she turns out to be someone who'll watch over me. I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood. I know I could always be good to one who'll watch over me." The pair didn't see Sam standing just outside the door. Al just kept on singing, "Although I may not be the man some girls think of handsome, to my heart she carries the key. Won't you tell her please to put on some speed, follow my lead, oh, how I need someone who'll watch over me."

Sam stepped in, "So what are you two up to? It's very early."

Al looked up at Sam, "We're singing. You want to join us?"

"Not right now." His daughter yawned. "Macy, go back to bed. You look tired."

If she could get nose to nose with Sam she would have. Her defiance was amazing for someone that young. "I don't want to."

However, a father's orders were meant to be followed. "I think you should go to your room."

She became defiant, "You're not my father."

Al looked at her, "Sweetheart, I think he's right. Go back to bed. I'll be here."

Sam stopped her before she left. "Wait a minute. I think I want Sebastian to come with me today, okay? We have some grownup things to do."

This time Al was the puzzled one, "Like what?" He just got a look from Sam in response. "I think I want to stay with Macy today."

Macy grinned in triumph. "See you later, Sebastian. I'll meet you here." She exited.

It was Sam's turn to sit down next to Al. "Why did you do that? I think I should watch you today. How's your hand?"

Al pulled the hand into view for Sam to examine. Already areas of infected tissue were visible. Sam shook his head. "You're in trouble already. You running a fever?"

Lying to Sam again, Al had to look down, "No, I don't think so. It still hurts like hell, though. I'm having a hard time moving my fingers."

Sam got as close as he could to the holographic hand, "Because of the pain or you just can't move them."

He had to think. The pain was real and his fingers wouldn't move much, but the cause was unsure. Concentrated effort produced a little motion. His fingers opened up a little, but the exertion needed was far too great. Al had to catch his breath after a sharp pain flew up his arm, "I think it's pain, but I'm not sure." The sharpness of the pain threw him a bit. "What do you think? Am I going to lose the hand?"

Sam tried to diffuse Al's legitimate concern. "Are all Italians like you? You always come up with the worst possible scenarios right off the bat. If we can get you back to the Project, you should be fine. It may take time. Burns like this don't heal fast. You'll probably need physical therapy, too." Sam hesitated before continuing, "Are you prepared for honesty here?" Al was frightened of what he might hear, but he nodded. "Looks like some third degree burns. You may lose some function. Some muscle might have to be excised. The sooner you get out of here, the better."

Al produced the handlink from his pocket. "Well, Ziggy and I are back on speaking terms. I just can't pretend I'm you. It won't take your commands from me, but don't you think it's interesting that your code was correct while mine wasn't? That's why Ziggy zapped me. I'm the only person with any need of an egress code for the Imaging Chamber. Curiouser and curiouser."

"Ziggy know why I'm here, yet?"

"We haven't spoken yet this morning." Al placed the handlink on his lap and started tapping out an audio access link to Ziggy. "You there, Ziggy?"

"I am available."

"Ziggy, you willing to part with any information on this leap?"

"We can only assume that Dr. Beckett has leaped to help his daughter as her suicide is the only catastrophe of note in the Haller family."

Al started asking questions. "Have you found out anything about the suicide?"

A whine and a squeal later and Ziggy announced, "No data available."

"Wanting to end his pain, or at least minimize it, Al wondered out Loud, "Are you going to let me out of here?"

"The proper egress code must be input to exit the Imaging Chamber. This is necessary to preserve the security of the Control Room."

A few more buttons were punched and Al turned off Ziggy's involvement in the conversation. "Well, got any ideas?"

"Not a one, but I think you need to stay with me today."

He shook his head, "No. You can't help me, but maybe I can help you." Now Sam looked puzzled. "Think about it. The chances are you're here for Macy, but Ziggy can't tell us what you need to do. If I hang out with Macy all day, then maybe I can find out what's on her mind."

It made sense, but Sam could also see that Al had a deepening affection for Macy. "Face it, Calavicci, you like that little girl."

He loved children, thought they were exquisite and had a soft spot in his heart for any little kid. "She reminds me of my second youngest. You remember Peri?"

Sam had vague recollections of Al's daughters. "She's your musician, right?"

"Can't figure where it came from, but she plays piano. You used to give her lessons. Remember that at all?" The injured hand started threading itself back inside his shirt and jacket.

A memory flashed of sitting next to a wiry little girl who didn't want to learn proper technique. She just wanted to play. It was pulling teeth time to get her to hold a good hand position, but once she did, she was magic. "Yeah, she had a great ear. Anything I threw at her she could play."

"She's at Juilliard now. My kid, at Juilliard. Go figure." He winced.

Sam wanted to get his friend's mind off the pain. I know why Macy likes you. You're about the same maturity level." Sam laughed at his joke.

Al shot back a sarcastic, "Heh, heh, heh." A sudden chill sent a shiver through his body. Sam could see the shaking start. Al tried to alleviate his friend's anxiousness. "It's okay. The Imaging Chamber is cold. That's all."

Sam knew Al was lying, but sometimes Al needed his lies. It was a kind of self-preservation. This time Sam wasn't going to call him on it. There was no help to be given, so Al had to fend for himself. The only concern Sam had was that Al would push too hard to get information on Macy. Pushing meant losing strength. That would hasten the fever he was destined to get. Though he knew the warning would probably fall on deaf ears, he felt it necessary to say, "Don't overdo it. When you feel tired, get some sleep."

"Yeah, sure. Go get ready for work. You got to pick up Ron Wojcik at the Ridgeland 'L' stop at eight. You remember how to get there?" He was hoping Sam would finally leave and he could stop playing games. The fever was coming on stronger now and a chance to sleep was appealing.

"If you need me, have Ziggy center you on me." Al agreed and Sam left.

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The phone rang in the middle of the night, never a good thing. Beth Calavicci reached over to lift the receiver before her youngest daughter woke up. Teenagers being what they are can sleep through a lot and this time Allie stayed tucked under her blanket while her mom whispered, "Hello?" Even before the situation was explained, she felt it in her gut. "We're leaving as soon as we can. I can be there in about five hours." She didn't bother saying good-bye. Other things demanded attention like waking her daughter, packing their belongings, and getting to the airport as fast as they could.

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Alone again, Al turned off the connection and, visually, was back in the Imaging Chamber. The sterile walls and glowing disks were the only decoration. Standing slowing he made his way to the washroom. He took care of his physical needs, then tried soaking his hand a little more. If he could just get his fingers to move better, but it wasn't working. The pain was strong and after using his good hand to force his fingers open, he could see the infection setting in. The soap burned like hell, but he used lots of it. Cold water washing away the soap almost felt good. It was a clean pain, one that felt like a healing pain. He kept running water over the burn for a long time. Maybe, if he ran the water enough, he could rinse away some of the bacteria growing disease and making a home in his hand.

Ten minutes had passed. As he tucked his hand inside his clothing again, he felt little anymore. The pain was beyond him now, passed into another realm of consciousness and that was fine. Using the paper towels, he patted the numb hand dry. Opening the medicine chest, he pulled out a package of peanut butter crackers and a juice box. The combination bordered on nauseating, but he chomped the crackers and drank the juice. Still thirsty, he bent down to the faucet and turned on the water again.

When he had his fill, he went back into the main chamber area and pulled the handlink from his pocket. In order to try and program it, he had to sit down and put it on his lap. He tapped in a contact code and prayed. No jolts. "Ziggy, talk to me."

"Admiral. I have been ordered to monitor your vital signs."

"The Command Center still has me on monitor?"

"Yes."

"Good." He addressed the brain trust beyond the wall, "Alright, enough is enough. I will assume you have attempted to remove the extra memory that started this whole thing. I will also assume Ziggy won't let you touch her hard drive."

"Correct assumption, Admiral," Ziggy interjected.

"I know that little pitchers have big ears, but there's no going around this. I can't risk another wrong code. You have been working on this for a long time. I want you to bring in Beeks. I want her to look at the programs Ziggy has been designing and see if she can find a pattern in them. Maybe Ziggy needs a shrink. That's all for now. I'm going to try and sleep a little more." An afterthought hit him, "Oh, warm this room up a little. I'm damn cold."

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The Command Center was still active. Lillian, Gooshie and Verbena had taken turns napping, but the hours were beginning to wear them down. Verbena was fascinated by Al's thought of psychoanalyzing the computer. It made all the sense in the world. Why hadn't she thought of it?

She overheard Lillian and Gooshie trying to figure out a way to warm up the Imaging Chamber. "Don't do that."

Lillian wanted to make Al as comfortable as possible. "But why? He's cold."

"Let him stay cold. His body temperature is over 101 degrees now. He may not like the cold, but it might help him in the long run. I want to follow up on his suggestion. Can you fill me in on the sequence of programs Ziggy has written for herself?"

Gooshie nodded, "I guess so."

"Let's do it. Gather up the documents you need. I'll meet you outside."

"Outside?"

"By the picnic benches. Be there in fifteen minutes." Verbena left the Command Center and started toward her quarters. She had a lot to think about. This was the first time her involvement in the Project went beyond caring for staff and the person inhabiting Sam's physical presence. None of her colleagues back at the university could ever guess that her job included psychoanalyzing a computer. This was the strangest bit of work she ever did and hoped she would ever do.

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Sam drove up to the public transportation station at Ridgeland Avenue in Oak Park. Ron Wojcik was already there. At least he figured it was Dan. He didn't have a clear memory of the man's face, but some guy was flagging him down and who else could it be?

Ron got in on the passenger side. "I got here early. Thanks for doing this. I don't mind the 'L,' but I hate busses. Can't quite figure it, but what the hell. Oh, sorry. Good morning."

"Good morning." Pleasantries were exchanged and then Ron got into work talk.

"I saw the new case assignments yesterday. You know that new guy, the one that looks like Count Dracula?"

"New guy?"

"Yeah, you remember. We saw him being admitted. Man, I never saw eyes as deep set as his. He's weird looking. I really think he looks like a vampire."

"Hey, the guy can't help what he looks like."

"I know, anyway. He's on your caseload now. What was his name? Karl something. Karl . . . Karl . . . Karl Sorensen. That's it. He's got an appointment with you this morning at nine thirty."

Sam wondered how Ron knew so much. "And how did you find out my appointment schedule?"

A confused look crosses Dan's face, "It's posted on the board. All new case assignments are. Where is your brain today?"

With a smile borrowed from Al, Sam said, "In New Mexico."

They finished the ride with conversations about the Chicago Bears, the White Sox, and the Cubs, bemoaning all the teams and how they could be better if only the powers that be would listen to them.

At the sanatorium, Ron and Sam walked through the corridors to their offices. Parting ways at his office, Sam pulled the file from the bin attached to his door. He looked at the name, Karl Sorensen, and entered to figure out how to counsel a vampire for a vocation.

Sitting down, he opened the file and started reading. Karl was 22 years old, six feet two inches tall and 150 pounds, too thin, but somewhat typical for people with tuberculosis. Reading further, he saw that Karl was bright and academically oriented. The patient already had a career in mind. Sam was relieved. Maybe all he would have to do is fill out some form (in triplicate, if he knew state agencies) and send Karl on his way.

He searched through drawers and found a stack of files that looked like blank forms and another that looked like the forms had been completed. It was study hall time. Sam brought out both piles and tried to make sense of the new language of vocational rehabilitation.

A half hour seemed to give him a bit of a feel for the complexity of Luke's job. It was half bureaucrat and half counselor, except that Luke appeared to be a real adept user of the system. His clients managed to get into projects that even Sam with his almost 21st century sensibilities thought might not work. Luke was a pretty neat guy. No wonder he went far in the field. He had real talent. Sam wished that Luke's talent would filter into his brain and help him work with Karl, who was now knocking at his door. "Come in." Sam stood up and walked over to the door to greet his patient.

The door opened and there stood Count Dracula. Sam understood now what Ron had meant. This guy has an uncanny physical resemblance to the vampire, but he held his hand out to shake hands with his counselor and a smile spread across is face. That blew the image. Karl spoke in a deep clear voice, "Hello, Mr. Haller. I'm Karl Sorensen."

Sam took the extended hand, "Nice to meet you. Call me Luke, okay?"

"Sure and I'm Karl."

There was a small table at the far end of the small office and since Sam liked tables better than the formality of desks, he offered Karl a seat and they began talking about life after tuberculosis and what was out there for Karl Sorensen.

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