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 Six

Verbena and Gooshie sat outside at one of the picnic tables under the green canopied recreation area. Admiral Calavicci knew how to treat and retain staff. The extra expense paid for itself in happy workers. Even for a project of its uniqueness, Quantum Leap had very little turnover. It was directly due to the atmosphere created by Sam and Al and maintained by Al in Sam's absence.

They perused the programming Ziggy had developed for herself. Verbena was noticing a trend. "Look at this Gooshie. Each of the programs takes some element of the project away from the Admiral."

Gooshie stammered, "But Dr. Beckett would die without the Admiral being able to contact him. There's no way around the neurochips. Without them the project is dead."

Verbena shuddered at the comment. "Gooshie, does Ziggy know that?"

He looked puzzled. "Of course, she does."

"Do you think she likes it?"

If a face could stutter, Gooshie's would have. "She has an ego. Dr. Beckett programmed one into her. Then she has chips containing nerve cells from Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci and they were both," wording was important here, "very secure men."

Verbena smiled, "That was diplomatically put, Gooshie. They both have enormous egos. Combine their personalities with a computer with its own and you get a megalomaniac machine with the instinct to destroy anything that gets in its way. Gooshie, I sense Ziggy thinks the Admiral is getting in her way."

"Ziggy is trying to kill Admiral Calavicci? No. That's impossible. Dr. Beckett would never give her the power to do that."

"No, but maybe we did. We've been asking for authorization to increase her capabilities. Admiral Calavicci has approved every improvement asked for. Don't you remember? Lillian said Ziggy's wasn't built to handle the kind of fuzzy logic properties she now has."

"But she was programmed to shut down certain segments of her CPU if she was getting out of hand. It was a failsafe. Dr. Beckett didn't think it would be necessary, but Admiral Calavicci demanded it."

"Does Ziggy know that, too?"

"Ziggy knows everything about her programming."

Verbena sat back and stared at the mountains glowing in the bright afternoon sun. She turned her eyes to the innocuous looking buildings behind her. Inside the cinder block facade was a computer that was developing into a tyrant who, as far as Verbena could tell, was attempting to annihilate one of her creators. Maybe both. If Al died, then Sam would have little chance to survive. It finally clicked. Ziggy was trying to commit the perfect crime. Verbena broke the silence. "We have to get the Admiral out of the Imaging Chamber. Ziggy is committing murder."

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Al lay on the floor of the Imaging Chamber. He was fighting his rising temperature and losing. The pulsing pain in his hand turned into numbness and the scent of dead flesh began to permeate. Visions of Vietnamese jungles drifted into his head. This was no time for nightmares, but his twilight slumber turned into a deep sleep and his sleep turned into past horrors.

It was summer in Vietnam, summer when the sun beat down so hot, a man could listen to his skin fry. Lieutenant Calavicci was suspended from a pole by a rope that wrapped around his wrists several times. He hanged there for two days under the evil Vietnam sun, no shirt to protect him, no food, no water. The pain in his shoulders and arms was excruciating. Even the smallest movement brought tears into his swollen eyes, but he would not let any fall. He had his head buried in his chest trying to shade his face from the intense rays. The only break in the day came when the VC tortured him. Whips cracked against his burnt and blistered back. Bamboo poles beat his legs. He knew his left leg was broken, but there was nothing he could do. While they beat him, he repeated an incantation, "Albert M. Calavicci, Lieutenant, United States Navy, serial number D 664296." The mantra incensed the VC and the whips continued beating, the strokes growing in intensity as he prayed for blessed unconsciousness, but that blessing wasn't coming and the whips just kept cutting deeper and deeper. He kept on, "Albert M. Calavicci, Lieutenant, United States..." a whip dug into his left shoulder, "...Navy, Serial num ..." and a bamboo pole fractured a rib, "... number D66 ..." and blood from a gaping wound in his back splattered over the ground, " ... 664296." The beating got worse and worse and he began yelled louder and louder, "15 June, 1934. He finally was unable to stand any more and tears streamed down his bruised, swollen face.

Suddenly a loud scream of excruciating pain was followed by an eerie and worrisome silence. The Admiral lay on the floor, curled into a tight ball of agony, his burned hand seizing continually, an occasional whimper sounding out. The picture was so foreign that it frightened the Control Room staff monitoring the Imaging Chamber activity.

Gooshie, Lillian and Verbena watched in anguish as Al relived his terrors. They had never been privy to his private thoughts about Vietnam and now seeing him go through the horror again with no one to comfort him, to tell him he was home, to tear him away from the VC villains who beat him nearly to death more times than he could remember. Tears poured from Lillian's eyes. Verbena held her as she sobbed. "What did they do to him?"

Verbena softly comforted her. "I don't know, Lillian."

Being completely unable to comprehend the true scope of the inhumanity of mankind, she asked again, "What did they do to him, Verbena? and why? I don't get it. Why torture him?" Another grotesque cry of agony from Al broke the sterile quiet of the Control Room.

Expecting Lillian to become a pile of mush, Verbena braced herself for more tears, but the surprise came in Lillian's sudden shift into professional. She wiped away the tears and a determined look came into her eyes. There was no time to cry. There was only time to find a way out of the Imaging Chamber for Al. She summoned up inside her the military demeanor of her friend and boss. Orders were barked out and instantaneously followed by surprised co-workers. Verbena smiled. Finally a leader was coming forth. Without Al, the group had been floundering with no one willing to take control. Now Lillian was taking on the role with all the expertise of a seasoned Navy man.

Verbena went to her office located on the other side of the Waiting Room. She passed the prone body of Sam Beckett, now unconscious and housing the mind of Luke Haller. No matter how many times she experienced his leaps, she was never used to the transformations. She paused only to push an errant wisp of hair off his face. In her office she took a look at the monitor keeping track of the Admiral's vital signs. Right now he was spiking a fever. The hallucinations were a giveaway that fever and hypoglycemia were a bad combination and that the combination was wreaking havoc on the undernourished, tired body of Al Calavicci. The visual monitor was on. Al's posture was changing. From his respiration and heart rate, Verbena assumed Al mercifully found restful sleep without nightmares. His temperature was climbing, 103.3 and his hand continued to seizure. "Ziggy, how long can the Admiral survive without medical attention?"

"Unknown."

"Give it your best shot. I won't hold you to it."

"Speculation on the Admiral's lifespan would be presumptuous. He apparently has survived physical abuse that ordinarily would kill, therefore his ability to survive this situation may be better than initially assumed."

It was an odd statement. "Initially assumed by whom?"

No response came from the computer. It was all too odd. Verbena turned off the monitor and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. "Time to go back to basics." She began to write notes and then thought better of it. Ziggy had visual monitors everywhere inside the compound. She checked her watch. 4:30. There would still be enough light outside. Verbena left her office, moving quickly through the activity of the Control Room, into the elevator, up and out. She found the picnic bench still empty. Sitting with her back to the sun she started trying to figure out the problem with the computer turned sociopath.

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Sam was on his drive home with Ron seated next to him. They were going over the day's mundane events. Ron asked, "How did it go with Sorensen?"

"Not bad. I think he's going to be fine." Smiling with the reference that only he would understand, Sam said, "I got a sixth sense." That sixth sense was Al.

"Good work. I knew if anyone could bring him around, it would be you."

Sam shrugged off the compliment. He couldn't take credit for it anyway. He changed the subject, "Do you know a good bookstore around here?"

"There's Kroch's. That's about it around here unless you want to go downtown. You going there tonight? If you are, I'll go with you."

Sam needed to know where to find this place, so taking Ron seemed an excellent idea. "Yeah, good. Now just tell me where it is."

The two men continued on to the bookstore in Oak Park. They lucked out with a parking space just down the street. It was a beautiful day. The air was warm and sky clear blue. Sam got momentarily lost in the perfection of the early evening sun. "Boy, this is great. Too bad it can't stay like this all year round."

Knowing Luke's affinity for rowboats, Ron teased, "Perfect fishing weather, huh? I don't know what you find so fascinating about sitting in a boat holding a piece of bamboo with a thread hanging from it. The entire experience escapes me."

So Luke liked to fish. Again, where was Al when Sam needed him? Al was a fly fisherman who enjoyed the intricacies of tying flies and using them out in the streams of Washington State. "It's the peace and quiet."

"I guess. Give me a day at the track anytime."

They entered the store and rather than search through the stacks for the book Al wanted, Sam approached a salesperson. "Hello, could you help me? I'm looking for a children's book called The Velveteen Rabbit. Do you have it?"

"I'll check for you, sir." Sam followed the woman to the back of the store where the children's books were kept. It took only a few seconds to find the story. "Here you are, sir. This is a wonderful story. It was one of my favorites when I was little."

"Really? What's it about?"

"A little boy who helps make his stuffed rabbit real by loving him."

Realizing Al had knowledge of this bunny book made Sam smile. He made a mental note to ask how he knew about it. If Sam knew his buddy, then a more grown up girl had to be involved. He opened up the volume and saw it was difficult reading, "This is for a four year old. It's too hard for her, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, but I think I have picture book." The woman found another edition. Sam looked at both and then remember Al told him the text would look too hard, but to get it anyway. Not sure if Al knew what reading level Macy was at Sam decided to take both versions. Then remembering he had a boy at home he asked, "Could you recommend something for a boy. He's eight."

The clerk handed Sam an abridged copy of Treasure Island. Sam took the books up front and paid for them. Ron was waiting, "Books for the kids?"

"Yeah. I like to bring them books every so often. It's good for them."

Playful sarcasm mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Father of the Year."

The men left the bookstore and wandered back to the car ready to make their way home for an evening with their families.

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Macy sat at the grand piano with the posture of a professional. Her little hands approached the keyboard with polish and style. Julia and Sam sat on the couch across from her and listened as the little girl started playing the first movement of the Mozart Sonata. Mama and Uncle Mario sat in the side chairs. With a purity of feeling and a technique beyond her years, Macy played and played. Her face became that of a child at complete joy in the playing. Sam was amazed at her incredible intensity and strength. He realized that his jaw was dropping in a cliché of astonishment. Closing his mouth he just sat back and listened. The music flowed over him and he was in complete and real awe of this four year old child. Now he was seeing the uniqueness Al has instinctively seen. He wished Al were with them to hear Luke's little girl play so magnificently.

The piece ended and Macy gracefully placed her hands in her lap. When the piano stopped giving out sound she bounced into the arms of her mother who hugged her. Sam started applauding. Mama and Uncle Mario joined in.

Mama went to Macy, "What a little artist. Your grandfather would have loved to hear you play his piano. Come here, mia figlia." Macy embraced her grandmother lovingly.

"I love you, Mama."

Macy went to Sam, "I wish Sebastian was here."

Okay, the secret was out. Julia asked first, "Who's Sebastian?"

Her response sounded almost too practied. "Sebastian is my new invisible friend."

Sam tried to placate the disturbed adults in the room. "It's fine to have invisible friends. Some of my best friends are invisible."

Julia didn't like his response. "Luke, don't encourage this."

"Why not? Macy has a new friend and I think it's just fine." The fire from Julia's eyes was burning a hole into Sam. "I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with young children having imaginary friends. Macy even told us he's imaginary. Right, Macy?"

Surprised at her mother's disapproval Macy piped up, "I put my hand right through him. He's like air."

Julia melted at her daughter's description. "So, he's like air. What does he look like?"

Macy hunched her shoulders. "I don't know. He's got brown hair and it's curly like mine, except his is short. He wears fun clothes, too. Not like regular grown up's."

Sam had to smile. "Not like regular grown up's" was a pretty apt description of his best friend. He flashed a quick thought to Al and wondered about his health. Macy just kept on going. "He wears red pants and a yellow shirt and he sings me songs. He's really neat. He can walk through the furniture and everything."

Julia looked at Sam. "You sure this is okay? Imaginary friends and all that are a little odd to me."

Sam just shook his head. "There's no problem with Sebastian. In fact, we should probably invite him to dinner. What do you think, Macy?"

The little girl was still not ready to completely trust this almost father, but she said, "I'll ask him to come tomorrow night."

From the seat across the room, Mario asked, "Can I come, too?"

Without missing a beat, Macy adamantly pronounced, "No, y ou can't come." The response was quick and strong making Julia feel very uncomfortable. Her uncle was being told not to visit by a child who, in Julia's eyes, should have known better. "Macy, apologize right now. That wasn't nice to say."

Macy tucked her head into her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Uncle Mario." Mario held out his arms for her. She took a deep breath and made her way to the old, sad man. He hugged her, but no hug was given in return. It was awkward to say the least and Julia figured the only way out was to leave the third floor apartment and go downstairs to the Haller household. "It's time for us to get going. We have to find Mike and Joey. We'll see you tomorrow, Mama. Good night, Uncle Mario."

Outside the apartment Julia turned to Macy. "Why did you say that to Uncle Mario? He's always welcome in our home. If your imaginary friend doesn't want him there, I don't care. Uncle Mario is real and has real feelings."

Trying to hold her ground, Macy pouted. "So does Sebastian and he didn't tell me not to ask Uncle Mario over."

Julia was not happy. "Enough. I don't want you to be mean to Uncle Mario again. He takes you for walks and treats you to Italian ices at least two or three times a week. He's an old man and he's very lonely. We have to do all we can to make him happy. Understand?"

Macy nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

Sam wasn't in complete agreement with Julia, but he wasn't sure if Luke would be, so rather than push the subject, he let it drop. In truth, he wanted to meet with Al and was more concerned with waiting for the Observer to show up. The sad look on Macy's face made him melt and he said, "You really played the piano beautifully. I'm so proud of you. My goodness, I can't imagine anyone playing that piece better."

"Thank you, Sir," was her barely audible response.

Nothing more was said as the Haller's entered their home.

Julia turned to Sam, "Would put Macy to bed? I'll go find Mike."

He nodded and Julia went to the backyard to find their son. "Come on, Macy. Time for bed." The child said nothing. Sam though it a good time to follow through on his promise to Al. "You know, I saw Sebastian this morning. He thinks you're pretty special." They entered Macy's bedroom. "He said you were a real good reader and he asked me to bring you a special book. Would you like to see it?"

The sullen little girl whispered, "Yes, please."

Sam went into his bedroom and brought out the bag of books. He pulled out both copies of The Velveteen Rabbit and held them out for her. "I wasn't sure which one was better. You can keep them both. When you get older, you can read the hard one."

"Which one did Sebastian want me to read?"

"Well, he said you're real smart and that I would think this one," he held out the original edition, "that this one might be too hard. He was right, so I got you an easier one for you to read now and one to hold onto for later."

Macy took the original edition in her hands. "This is the one I want." She started walking away from him clutching the book. "I can put myself to bed. Goodnight."

Sam didn't want to push himself on this obviously fragile child. After listening to Macy play the piano, he didn't want to blow any chance at a relationship with her. He went into the front room and sat there reading the evening paper hoping Al would show up soon.

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Al woke from his sleep not feeling very rested. He practically staggered back to the sink and turned the water on. Cold water had become one of his best friends. He splashed some on his fevered face and plunged his burned hand into it. The cold didn't feel particularly good, but it added a peculiar discomfort, a discomfort that he could contend with better than the pain and infection emanating from his hand. The cold diverted his attention enough to give him time to collect himself. He wanted a shower, clean clothes, and a bed. None of that seemed to be imminent. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to make himself presentable. He knew that Sam would be unduly worried, if he looked any more like hell than he did.

Looking in the mirror on the medicine chest he shuddered at the image that reflected back at him. His eyes had dark circles under them and his hair needed combing badly. He needed to shave too. A little water and his fingers calmed down some of the errant curls. A handful of wet paper towels wiped across his face. It was the best he could do under the circumstances and he decided that he really hated it. At least the sterile cleanliness of the Imaging Chamber helped keep his clothes clean, if not well pressed. The leather pants fared pretty well, but his shirt needed intense help from an iron.

Going back into the main section of the Imaging Chamber he pulled the handlink out of his pocket. "Okay, Zigs, what time is it now?"

"For whom?"

"Both, either, I don't care. Don't give me grief, okay? I feel lousy and I don't want to play games with you."

"You have been asleep for five hours. It is now 8:30 PM. Dr. Beckett's time is 3:15 AM. Are you feeling any better?"

"Concern all of a sudden?"

"You seem to be suffering from PTSS - Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome."

Al knew about the syndrome. It had become the pet cliché diagnosis of the shrink set. Anyone who had been in Vietnam had heard about it, sometimes to distraction, but he never considered himself a victim. "I know what PTSS is. What makes you think I got PTSS?"

"Your nightmares." A recording of Al repeating his name, rank, and serial number was played for Al to relive while awake. "You apparently dreamt you were back in Vietnam and being victimized by the Viet Cong. I concluded you were reliving a beating in which your left leg and several ribs were broken. Is that so?"

The memory flooded back into his consciousness and his stomach clenched and tightened until he felt like throwing up. "What I dream is my business, not yours. Where's Sam?"

"Dr. Beckett is asleep"

Al let out a sigh. "Damn, I promised Macy I'd be waiting for her. Damn it. You should have gotten me up."

"You left no such instructions, Admiral."

He went back to the medicine chest and opened it. One package of crackers and a juice box were left. He started talking to himself, "Okay, time to ration." He tore the plastic wrapper off the crackers and ate two of the six pieces inside. Punching a hole in the juice box, he took a few sips to wash down the sticky peanut butter. "Man, if I didn't like peanut butter before, I sure hate it now." He yawned and put his right hand to his head to push the pain back inside it. "Ziggy, center me on Macy Haller."

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