Road Trip - A Look before the Leap

The author thanks Bellasarius Productions, Universal Studios and any other creative entities responsible for Quantum Leap.

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Day One - On the Road

The party left its effects on both men. Al was used to odd hours, sleeping when opportunity presented itself rather than according to a set time. Sam was methodical. He had a ritual for sleeping and breaking it put him off kilter the next day. By the time they both decided to get up, it was past nine, an hour Sam hadn't slept past in decades. Al ordered up some room service and they started packing up. The food arrived and they sat down to get something inside them.

Al started in on a piece of bacon. "I'm hungry. This is good."

"Too much fat isn't good for you. Your arteries are blocking as we speak."

"Eat your alfalfa. My arteries are fine." They were. The Navy demanded physicals every year and his was usually intensive. The health of a former prisoner of war and astronaut wasn't newsworthy unless that health deteriorated. The Navy didn't like bad press, so they were extra careful with Admiral Calavicci.

"I can't figure how you eat as much as you do and not gain weight. You need to patent the technique." Sam poured skimmed milk over his shredded wheat.

Using his fork to point at the bowl of cereal in front of Sam, Al mumbled through a mouthful of cheese omelet, "How can you eat that stuff? It looks like packing material from the mail room." Biting into buttered toast," You don't know what you're missing."

The reaction he knew he'd get didn't stop Sam from saying, "Yes, I do. I'm missing a heart attack like the one that killed my dad."

He shoveled more omelet into his mouth, relishing each bite. "Trust me, when I die, it won't be from a heart attack."

A swig of orange juice and Sam warned him, "No, you'll die from emphysema. Stop smoking."

"I haven't smoked a cigarette in 20 years and I don't inhale cigars."

"That's right. You'll get cancer of the mouth instead."

"Just full of joy this morning, aren't you?" Al hated conversations about how people died. He hated funerals, wakes, memorial services, and all the other stuff that went with death. None of it appealed to him. Especially he didn't like considering his own death. Yeah, it was going to happen some year, some decade far off in the future, but he had too much to do to consider it could even be a possibility for him. It was time to change the subject. "Okay, we got to get out of here before noon. It's about four hours to Pittsburgh. I figure we can stop there tonight and get into Indiana tomorrow. This place we're going - east or west end of the state?"

"West. It's not far from Ft. Wayne."

"Ah, Ft. Wayne, the nation's cultural capital."

Sam kept eating and mentioned in passing, "I want to stop at the Wall before we go."

"Go ahead."

The answer wasn't what he expected. He thought Al would jump at the idea. "Don't you want to come?"

"Not particularly." The monument to fallen Americans wasn't a good experience for Al. His presence was requested at the unveiling and he stood for the obligatory pictures, but he left shortly after. Unlike the thousands of others there, he didn't approach the granite memorial or look for those familiar names. "Nothing for me to see."

Words could hurt and those cut through Sam. "My brother's name is there."

"I know, Sam. You should go." The newspaper gave him something to hide behind. Sam was miffed and the Admiral didn't want to deal with it. "I'll pick up a car at the rental agency."

The knock on the door was welcomed as a reason to bolt from the table. "I'll get it." Looking through the peephole Al saw a bellman holding a small case. He opened the door.

"Sorry to disturb you, Admiral Calavicci, but this was dropped off at the concierge for you and Dr. Beckett. I was told to be sure to hand deliver it to you."

Suspicions were easy for the Admiral. "Who gave it to you?"

"He told me his name was Gooshie and that he hoped you'd have a good road trip."

"Thanks." He took the case telling the bellman, "Hang on a sec." Al slipped into his room for some cash. The fellow deserved a tip. The bellman was grateful and Al brought the case to the table. "We got a good-bye gift from Gooshie." The little vinyl case was dropped onto the table. "What's in it?"

It looked like a small suitcase, a very small suitcase. Sam flipped up the clasp and lifted the top. Inside were twenty cassette tapes and a note. Sam smiled form ear to ear. "It's music! This is great. Look at all this!" the case contained everything from the Elvis to Rod Stewart to the Beatles to Motown to Broadway. "What a terrific gift."

"Yeah, the little guy's got style." He picked up the note. "Here, listen to this. 'Dear Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci, I hope you have a great time learning about each other. I don't know if you'll have time to listen to all of this, but I thought you should have some music. I think you should listen to Man of La Mancha, but not until the last day of your drive. Have fun and try not to think of Quantum Leap. This is a time for you to think of each other. Sincerely, Gooshie.' Weird little guy."

"You know, he is taller than you."

"Your point being?" He glanced into the case. "Any Stones?"

"You're a Rolling Stones fan?"

"Isn't everyone?" Walking out of the room he sang, "I can't get no satisfaction. . ."

Calling out Sam said, "It's going to be a long, long trip," and he laughed, "especially if you insist on singing!"

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The rental car was parked and the two men walked toward the Vietnam Memorial. About fifty yards away from the stones Al began to slow down. "Listen, kid, I'm going to see what Abe's got to say. I'll meet you on the steps in fifteen minutes."

The Admiral left Sam to face the specter of his brother alone. If that's how it had to be, then fine, but until Al could see that other people suffered from the war as well, Sam held little confidence in the possibility of a true friendship. He walked right to the engraving pronouncing that Thomas Beckett died in Vietnam and that this monument told that truth to the world. His fingers outlined each letter and memories flooded back.

Their last Thanksgiving together, Tom sat at the table in his dress blues, a proud Navy SEAL, a graduate of Annapolis, eager to serve. Those last few days were some of the best and worst of Sam's life. He treasured the moments spent with Tom, but felt ashamed that the last basketball game Tom saw him play in was a defeat - and not just a defeat for the team, but Sam messed it up and blew their last few opportunities to win. Big brother didn't tease him. Tom put his arm around his brother's shoulder and told him not to look back. The past wasn't the place to live.

Now Sam was building, if he got funding, his own monument, and one that would allow him to look back in ways no one had dreamed before. He pressed his face against the cold stone and whispered to his brother, whispered so softly he was scarce sure he made any sound. "Maybe, we can bring you home alive, just maybe. I'm going to try, Tom. I promise."

Sam turned around and walked toward the Lincoln Memorial. In the distance he saw the Admiral sitting on the steps, his head in his hands. Maybe it was good Al didn't go with him. His time with Tom was personal. Al didn't need to be sharing anything that special with him. He wasn't sure Al understood the kind of loss he felt and explaining it was beyond even his genius. "Ready to go, Al?"

The Admiral looked up. "I didn't hear you coming. Sorry." As he stood up, he handed Sam the keys to the car. "You drive first. I'm tired."

Conversations were difficult this day. Both men thought they made a mistake in taking this trip, but Sam's mother was waiting to see him and the Admiral was getting the chance to spend time in Chicago. Each figured they'd put up with the stuff that was boring to allow the other to enjoy whatever it was they wanted to do.

The car started out of DC and headed northwest toward Pittsburgh. It was early afternoon. Al planned the route and figured it would take maybe four to four and half hours to complete this first leg. Sam opened Gooshie's gift and asked, "What are you interested in hearing?"

"Something sweet, quiet. I want to sleep a little."

Looking through the stash, Sam pulled out "Jim Croce?"

Croce wasn't one of his top ten, but the tone was right. "Sure, what the hell."

The cassette was slid into the player and as DC disappeared behind them, Croce began singing, "If I could save time in a bottle."

Sam hated driving into a setting sun, but it was going to be dark soon enough. Al was asleep in the seat next to him. The Admiral didn't rest easily though. There was a lot of tossing and turning. It was hard to sleep well in a car, though and Sam dismissed the occasional grunt as a response to potholes. The sun left the sky and darkness made the driving a little easier. It would be nice for Al to do some driving. Sam was getting tired himself, but the Admiral was still sleeping and it seemed inappropriate to wake him.

Fifteen minutes later, it was almost completely dark out and Sam started listening to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. It started out a little loud, so he adjusted the volume and began to hum along. The Admiral started getting a little more restless, but still didn't seem to want to wake up. Sam was thinking back to when he first heard the music, back in 1967. He was 14 and the Beatles were the coolest band ever.

But in 1967, Al was in a different world, one where violent Vietcong radicals kept him prisoner. As Sam drove, his subconscious heard the music and transported him back to hell. The guard used bamboo-soaked cane to break skin and bone. Crying out with each blow he begged, "God, no! Let me die! Let me die!" His pleas continued as he drowned in a growing river of blood.

Sam jumped out of his skin with the terror he heard. He slammed on the brakes, flung the car into park and ran to open the door on his friend's side. "It's okay, Al. Wake up. It's only a dream." A gentle hand rested on the Admiral's arm. The nightmare was not abating. Sam continued his attempt to wake his friend. "Al, you got to wake up here. Come on." It took almost another two minutes, but weary, frightened eyes began to come back to the present. "It was only a dream."

The Admiral panted in short breaths, winded from the devastating dream. "Easy for you to say." A shaking hand wiped away the sweat dripping into his eyes. "Shit." Knowing that the dreams came often was embarrassing enough, but having Sam witness them was beyond embarrassing. He felt a humiliation belying his Admiral status. "I'm sorry, Sam." He tried to get out of the car, but the physical exhaustion of his nightmare weakened him. A second and then a third try finally got him standing "I'm fine. I just need a drink."

The one thing they didn't have was water. "You sure you're okay?"

Al started walking a little, trying to get the images out of his head. He found a tree to lean against and slid to the ground. Sitting with his eyes closed, his head leaned back against the tree trunk. Sam never thought the Admiral came close to looking his age, but right now, here in this darkness, he seemed ancient.

"I'm sorry, Sam. This was a bad one."

"No shit." A small laugh from the Admiral was exactly what he hoped for. It allowed the older man an opportunity to take in a deep breath. As the calming air escaped Sam asked, "You interested in letting me in on it?"

For a long time, Sam wanted to be privy to that chunk of Al's life when he spent year after year in the hands of torturers and villains of the most perverse kind. No one yet heard those stories because the Admiral's voice could not make them sound out. It wasn't stoicism that kept his secrets. To him, it was absolute cowardice. He couldn't say the words and if he couldn't say them, then maybe the things they did to him really didn't happen. But Sam needed an answer to his question and there was only one he could give, "No."

"Why?"

He simply shook his head. "I wish we had water. You don't know how good water can taste." It was the most information he'd ever given his best friend.

"I guess water was at a premium." Maybe through innocent conversation, he'd find out more.

"Not when it rained." Again, more information slipped out than he wanted. "Forget it. We had water. Wasn't always clean, but we had it." He didn't add the part where for how many months his cage was set in water so deep that sitting down was impossible. Kneeling wasn't much better for guys his height. He stood, half drowned in the Mekong for days, water sloughing his skin off leaving him ripe for the kind of sunburn that blisters in an hour and stays blistered for weeks. The minute he was pulled from the water he knew he would be staked out for the sun to do its work on him. Then when blisters covered him, the whips would begin again. They beat down on him and he couldn't take it "God, no!" The dream was back and he curled into a ball. "No!"

Sam sunk to the ground and took the Admiral in his arms. "Al, come on back." The Admiral fell limp. "Al?" Suddenly the concern for mental health was replaced by worry for his physical "Where are you, Al?" Sam straightened out the Admiral's body, laying him on the cold ground. "Al, come on, don't do this."

Al slowly returned to the land of the living. "God, it hurts." He tried to rise, but weakness was overpowering him completely.

"Stay still." He took a deep breath. "You're going to be angry, but I'm taking you to a hospital."

"No, you're not"

It was just common sense, but then who said sense was common? "Al, the nightmare came when you were awake. This is not good."

"I don't give a shit. I'm not going to a hospital. I'll be fine. I've done this before."

The man's mulishness aggravated Sam. "Listen to me. You just had a nightmare while you were talking to me. Do you understand that isn't normal?"

"Understand this. I'm fine."

"Hey, I'm the doctor. If I want an opinion on moon rocks I'll ask you." Standing up, he held his hand out. "Let's get back into the car where it's warm.

Help made him feel old and decrepit, but he accepted it. "I'll be fine. Jesus, you're worse than San Diego when I got back from Nam."

Back at the car, Sam closed Al's door and then got in and closed his. "I know you think it's morbid curiosity, but it's not. You have to open up about this stuff. Something is going on with you and I can't help but think some of it has to do with Vietnam."

"Gee, Sherlock, you think so?" He went into defensive mode. The easiest way was to avoid confrontation, so he closed his eyes. Pretending to be asleep, he ignored the presence of this friend.

Sam knew there was no real sleeping going on, but this particular battle was lost. He knew if was to win the war, then he had to allow the Admiral his small victories. The engine was started and Sam pulled back onto the road. "I'll try to find a place to get us something to drink, but someday we're going to talk about what happened there."

And someday he'd see a frozen hell from the back of a flying pig.

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There was no need for lavish digs and the pragmatist in Sam pulled into the parking lot of a Motel Six just outside Pittsburgh. No reason for a swanky suite. He nudged Al. "You awake?"

Al's eyes opened and he saw the motel. "This is where we're staying?"

"We don't need anything fancy. It's good enough."

Al got out of the car as if nothing had happened. "You should have let me drive a few hours."

"Like that was going to happen." Al ignored the comment as if he hadn't heard it. "You feeling better?"

Al was his old cheerful self. "Me? Hell, yeah. Four hours of sleep does a body good." They entered the office and found a young man behind the desk. He wore a name tag and also the telltale physical features of a person with Down syndrome. Al smiled at him and asked, "Got a couple of rooms for the night?"

"Yes, sir. Welcome to our motel."

"Thanks," Al checked out the name tag, "Phil."

Phil asked them, "Did you say two rooms?"

Two rooms seemed like a waste of money to Sam. "One room with two beds will do."

"No." Al jumped on Sam's request almost before Sam made it. "Two rooms." He whispered loud enough for Sam to hear. "He snores. Better put us down in a corridor away from your other guests."

The clerk laughed. "I bet he doesn't snore worse than me." Phil pointed to the book in front of Al. "Would you please register? Do you want both rooms on one credit card?"

Jumping in again Al said, "Yes." He looked over to Sam. "This one's on me." A Bic pen sat on the registration form and Al began filling in the blanks. "Phil, anyplace around here where we can get something good to eat?"

"There's a Chinese restaurant down the street. They make good mu shu pork."

"Thanks." He finished the registration, took the keys and tossed one to Sam. "Heads up." Looking back at Phil Al said, "What time is checkout?"

"Noon, Sir."

The travelers made their ways to their rooms. They didn't talk much. Neither knew what to say. Sam broke the silence first. "Give me half an hour. Then we'll get some dinner."

"Half an hour's good." Al slipped into his room before Sam had any chance to say anything. He didn't notice that Sam did the same thing.

Out of sight of each other, they threw suitcases on the bed, hung up winter coats and decided to shower. Stopping on the road's shoulder made them both a little dusty. Al had an added need for showering. Somehow showering after his dreams helped wash the ugliness away. He knew it was crazy, but he didn't care. It was something he did and no one seemed to understand. None of his wives did. Beth probably would have, but that dog wasn't hunting anymore. The others were nice enough ladies, but he couldn't find the passion for them that he still carried for Beth. Times like this, times when the dreams came were hard. It was the time he felt most alone and unwanted. Problem was, those feelings fed into the dreams. The incident on the road didn't bring any relief. If anything, he dreaded the upcoming days. Somehow he had to get away from Sam and out of this road trip. He wasn't ready for anyone to share his terror, especially Sam. The kid had these romantic notions about dying there and he needed them. His brother was killed on a mission to rescue POWs and Sam wanted to believe it was a noble death. As far as Al was concerned, no one who died in that hellhole died nobly. None survived nobly either.

Sam stepped into the shower and tried to figure out what was going on with the Admiral. Obviously something haunted him. The episode in the car proved that. It also proved that Sam was right. Whatever it was, it had to do with Vietnam. The war was a huge event in Sam's life. The word of his brother's death crushed him. People told him to be proud and he was. His brother's life was lost while saving others, actually while trying to save others. The mission was a failure, but that difference didn't matter to Sam. Tom gave his life for his fellow Americans. Nothing was nobler than that. The good doctor held onto that belief like a life raft in open ocean.

Thirty minutes went by and Al emerged from his room to find Sam in the hall. "Did I keep you waiting?"

"Just got here. I called the restaurant. It's only two blocks. Want to walk?"

They started west toward the Lotus Chinese Restaurant. Neither spoke until they were nearing the door. Sam broke the silence. "We have to talk about what happened today. You know that, don't you?" The evil glance he got back from Al told him not to talk about it, but Sam was insistent. He held the door open for Al. As they passed through into the gaudy, red-lanterned foyer he kept talking. "I'm not letting you off the hook."

Al held two fingers up to the hostess and they were ushered in. The table offered first was in the middle of the room, but Al wanted to be more isolated. Sam was going to make him talk about stuff and no one else needed to hear what he was going to say even if he wasn't going to say much at all. The host led the pair to the table Al wanted, the one in the far corner, at the darkest edge of the room.

The waiter brought over two glasses of water and a pot of tea. Sam took the menus and asked him, "Give us a few minutes, okay?"

"But bring some shu mai." The waiter nodded and left. "I love shu mai."

"Shoe my?"

"Potstickers, Beckett. With all your education, you are a food idiot. You got to be adventurous in life. Eat something other than roast chicken and baked potatoes on occasion. You might find you like it."

"I like what I like."

"How can I argue that?" The water glass was lifted, "Cheers."

Sam clinked his glass against Al's. "Too bad we didn't have any water earlier. You could have used it."

The glass was set down. "Well, didn't take you long to bring that up."

"Al, you scared me. I didn't know what to do."

"You did fine except for the hugging thing. You can drop that stuff anytime now."

He poured out some tea. "I wasn't hugging you. I was trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

Sam wasn't going to let this rest. Al needed to say something, but he wasn't about to get into his time in Vietnam. No one heard those stories. Even he didn't. They stayed in his head. Every so often, one snuck out and the nightmares would begin. In a few weeks, they ended and he was safe again for however long. "Okay, you kept me from hurting myself. Thanks."

"I'm not looking for thanks. I want to find a way to keep the nightmares from happening again and I can't do it. Only you can. If you don't talk about what went on in the camps, then the dreams will never stop."

"Then the dreams won't stop, Sam." The teacup was hot, almost too hot to hold, but he forced himself to feel the burning. It temporarily made him forget the pain of the past. This was something he controlled and could deal with. The cup cooled to where it wasn't hurtful. Maybe if he stared into the younger man's eyes, the kid would finally believe him. "I don't talk about it. I never have and I never will, so give it up."

He was frustrated. "Then why are we both driving to Indiana? You certainly could have found some kind of diversion in DC for two weeks. I mean, you're divorced again."

"Like you have a wife in New Mexico just dying to make pancakes for your breakfast." Sam's face became ashen and Al knew he crossed the line. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Sam. Someone should be there waiting for you. It's Donna's loss. You'll find someone that will stay with you. Luck like mine is only for a special few like Mickey Rooney, Liz Taylor, take your pick." Somehow he had to get Sam's mind away from Donna. He drew attention back to himself. Sam would buy that as a diversion.

He would maybe tell the kid something about the war, but then maybe not really. There was only one thing he could confess about Vietnam. "You would have liked my first wife, Sam. Beth was something else. That one I could have stayed married to, but after I was MIA for two years, she had the Navy declare me dead. She married some attorney. I always thought he was the one who convinced her to give up on me. The bastard. They got married on my birthday, June 15th. I always figured I would die for real on June 15th too. It would be poetic, don't you think?"

Sam lived through two wives with Al. He even was best man for the fifth one even though he held little hope that it would last. This confession about Beth was new information. With everything he knew about his friend, this bit took him by surprise. "I'm sorry, Al." The shu mai arrived and both men became silent until they felt no one could hear again. "I'm not prying, Al."

Al poured chili sauce on the potsticker and stuffed half of it into his mouth. "Yes, you are." Never having eaten potstickers, Sam followed suit and before Al could warn him he tossed one into his mouth dripping with chili. "Sam, don't!"

The farm boy's eyes turned into saucers when the spicy chilies hit his tongue. He swallowed the potsticker whole and grabbed the water. "Oh, my Lord! How can you eat those?"

It was the first good laugh all day. "Sorry, kid. The shu mai aren't hot. It's the sauce. Try one plain. It will help get the chili taste out of your mouth." He continued to laugh. "We have got to get you eating with diversity."

"Diversity is wonderful in hiring practices. In food, it's a death sentence. Good grief." He took another swig of water. "You can just down those without a problem?"

He dunked another shu mai into the chilies. "Looks like." The dumpling was eaten with relish. "Really, Sam, eat one without the sauce. Water isn't helping you. You need starch or dairy to get rid of hot stuff."

"Why should I trust you?" He gingerly poked at a virgin potsticker. "You trying to pull a trick on me? If you are, I'm not up for it."

"I promise you, they're not hot. It's the chilies that are hot."

He didn't completely trust the Admiral, but at least they were having some fun. "Okay, but I'll leave you here in Pittsburgh if you're lying to me."

"There's a threat." Sam bit into the very mildly flavored appetizer and smiled. "These are good."

"Would I lie to you?" Sam shot him a look. "Okay, so I would, but I didn't this time."

The conversation remained light and the discomfort they had earlier vanished as steaming Shrimp with Lobster Sauce and Szechwan Eggplant and Ground Chicken were served up. Al had to steal a shrimp or two, but he warned against Sam attempting to steal some eggplant. It was hotter than the shu mai.

Dishes were cleared and Al requested some club soda. The drink came with almond cookies. "I love almond cookies." A piece was broken off the big cookie and he chewed with vigor.

"Where do you put it?"

"Put what?"

"Everything you eat. You should weigh 200 pounds at least."

Maybe it was time to tell the truth. "I can eat like this because I'm missing 16 feet of small intestine and five inches of large. When I got home from Nam, my gut was public housing for all sorts of parasites. Aren't you glad you asked?" He smiled hoping Sam would let it go.

"That explains a lot."

"It explains why I eat a lot and that's it." He kept eating his cookie. "And I like eating, so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing."

It was a horrendous result of his incarceration. Sam was naïve, but not stupid. He let it go. It was time to start laughing again. "If you like eating, wait till you get to the camp. My mom makes the best fried chicken."

"I love fried chicken."

"You love everything, but Katie will be there too and she makes apple pie that is even better than Mom's. I don't know how she does it, but it's out of this world. You have to eat it just about half an hour after it's out of the oven and it's still warm and the vanilla ice cream melts all over it."

"Did you ever put a hunk of cheddar cheese on hot apple pie? Now, that's heaven."

Sam started eating his cookie. Crumbs clung to his lips. "You know, Katie says the pie is best with cheddar cheese, but I like ice cream better." Wiping his face he told Al, "Katie's husband is in the Navy. He's a Petty Officer."

"Yeah, where are they stationed?"

"Great Lakes Naval Air Station in Illinois."

It's nice that you keep in contact with your sister. You're a good brother."

Sam finished chomping the cookie and was barely understandable when he said, "You would have been a good brother. Too bad you were an only child."

Al was shocked. He considered Sam his best friend, but he hadn't told him about Trudy yet. Then again, he never told anyone about Trudy. Maybe it was time. Somehow this trip was making him admit stuff. Gooshie told them it was important to get to a level of complete trust. It was hard. He'd said so much already, but without any more thought he heard himself saying, "I wasn't an only child. I had a little sister like you."

"You do? Are you serious?"

He gulped down the last of the soda wishing it had a good splash of scotch in it. "Yeah, I'm serious, but you put her in the present tense. Trudy is dead."

Sam's heart broke for his friend. The sadness in the older man's face was obvious. "What happened?"

No need to go into raptures, but spit it out, Calavicci. Let someone else know that beautiful soul was on earth and loved you. "I grew up in an orphanage. You know that, but Trudy got sent to Willowbrook. When I was eighteen, I tried to get her out, but she died from pneumonia. I guess that happens in institutions."

Sam knew the name Willowbrook. It was infamous for the depth of its atrocities committed against people with mental illness. When the scandal broke, the pictures were vile and a tremendous reform took place. "She was mentally ill, huh?"

"No, not at all. She had Down Syndrome."

"Why was she there?"

His hand gripped the glass and Sam could see the tenseness returning. "Because the great brains taking care of us figured there wasn't any difference. She died there and I didn't know. They didn't tell me, didn't even try to tell me. I should have gotten her out of there, Sam. I should have done something to help her."

It was pretty apparent to Sam. "You were a kid. You couldn't have done anything."

The subject had to change. Why he brought it up was beyond him now, but there was another prop to play with. He picked up one of the fortune cookies. "Let's see what's going to happen to me." The cookie broke open and he read, "God danced the day you were born." He leaned back in his chair laughing. "Now, there's one for you." He slid the other cookie toward Sam. "Read yours."

A few seconds later Sam read, "There will be many surprises. Unexpected travel is likely."

"Ha! It's a day late, but right on the mark. Actually, both of these are yours, kid." He tossed the fortune at his friend. "Makes more sense for you than me."

Sam picked up the check and they walked back to their rooms. It was only another six hours to the camp so they decided to take their time getting up. They'd leave around ten.

Al got into his room and sighed in relief. A check of the time told him he had 14 hours to relax and no reason to talk to anyone about anything. On the other hand he didn't have any scotch or a book that looked interesting and television didn't appeal to him at all. With nothing to do he did what he always did when that was the case. Quietly, he left the motel, dug his hands in his pockets and started walking hoping to get tired enough to sleep through the night without the dreams terrorizing him.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: All rights to this story are reserved. Neither the whole nor parts (with exception of short excerpts for review purposes) may be published elsewhere without written permission from the author. Thank you.