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 Ten - The Road to ChiThe car was packed and time had come for good-byes. Katie and Thelma were invited to come along for the ride, but opted to stay among family a few more days. Katie didn't want to go back to Great Lakes yet. Her life there was over and the idea of packing up was still too hard to deal with. Deb made sure Sam had a supply of antibiotics in case Al started feeling sick and Thelma made sure they had food. Recalling their last time in transit, Sam had a few bottles of water stashed in the back.
The good-byes were bittersweet, but family ties were strengthened over the past week and while no one wanted to repeat the terrifying events, they were all glad that they had transpired and were now history.
Despite Al's protestations that he was feeling well, Sam took over driving. "You aren't well yet. It's only been a few days."
"Stop worrying about me. I'm fine."
"You will be."
"We're what, about three hours from Chi?"
Al never used the town's full name. "Do you ever call it Chicago?"
He had to think a moment. "Not often. I made reservations at the Carleton for us." Sam had never heard of the place. "It's a beautiful little hotel in Oak Park. Great seafood restaurant attached to it. You'll like it. I promise."
"Where's Oak Park?"
"First burb west of the city." He watched the Indiana countryside go by. "You're going to love Chi, excuse me Chicago."
"We used to go there when I was a kid. Lincoln Park Zoo was a yearly destination for us."
"Chi is a lot more than a zoo. I got to take you to Fitzgerald's. Great music and not too far from the hotel." He reached into the back seat for the box of audiotapes Gooshie gave them. The stretch pulled on the bruised muscles and he cringed, more angry than anything else. "I'm getting old, Sam. There was a time when Chuck wouldn't have hurt me at all."
As capable as the Admiral had been when he was boxing, Sam knew that there were times when size mattered. "I doubt that, Al. He's a foot taller and 95 pounds heavier. You weren't ever going to win."
"Too bad being an Admiral didn't matter to the putz. Would have saved me a lot of pain."
Sam didn't want to talk about the "incident" as the family had named the attempted murder. "Hey, pull out that tape we're not supposed to listen to until the last day."
Al found the soundtrack of Man of La Mancha and slipped it into the dash. The overture began. "The guy's not very subtle, is he."
Sam made a turn onto the Tollway and asked, "What do you mean?"
"Don Quixote, seeing the best in the worst, fighting to make things right, that's you, kid."
"Me? Quixote tilted at windmills and probably suffered from senile dementia."
Laughing at the description Al had to say, "Now, that sounds like me. Trying to beat up something a hell of a lot bigger than I am and I'm getting into that senile dementia age bracket."
"Not quite yet. I'd say another year or so."
"Be quiet and drive. I'm listening here." He laughed and heard the opening song.
From the speakers came Richard Kiley's impressive voice singing out, "Hear me now, o thou wizards and servants of sin. All you dastardly doings are past, for a holy endeavor is now to begin and virtue shall triumph at last!"
The two scientists had two different reactions to what they heard, but they kept opinions to themselves. Sam was the knight-errant seeing the potential in Quantum Leap to have virtue triumph. His sidekick, his Sancho was the pragmatist. Al didn't have naïveté to rely on. His world was too battered, but he would happily be at Sam's side, being his friend and trying to keep the man from getting his block knocked off.
Al looked over at the driver. Sam was grinning and his mouth moved with the words. "Don't tell me, you played Don Quixote in high school."
"Well, no. I played a muleteer, the one that sings Little Bird."
"Sam, you didn't get the lead? That's not like you."
"It was during basketball season and my parents told me I couldn't do a lead role and play ball. So, I took the muleteer. It's a great song. I was happy."
They listened a little more. Thinking about the title tune Al said, "It's not an impossible dream, Sam. Gooshie was way off here."
"I don't think the song is really about impossible dreams." He had to think a minute to put his thoughts into words. "It's more about having dreams and being willing to pursue them."
Dreams hadn't been the Admiral's friends lately and just the sound of Sam's words brought his mind to Vietnam. Diverting his attention, he turned attention back to the soaring melodies from the magnificent musical. In no time, Aldonza was singing her angry monologue. She was telling Quixote, "You have shown me the sky, but what good is the sky to a creature who'll never do better than crawl? Of all the cruel bastards who've badgered and battered me you are the cruelest of all." Al felt his gut clench. He really couldn't call Sam a cruel bastard, but this taste of family, this past week filled him with feelings of lost potential. Though he felt comforted knowing he was forever tied to the Beckett clan, it simply served to reinforce his own family hell. Aldonza told Quixote, "Can't you see what your gentle insanities do to me? Rob me of anger and give me despair. Blows and abuse I can take and give back again. Tenderness I cannot bear." Damn, too bad it was a girl singing. He felt the words were his, but Sam didn't need to know that. There was a lot Sam didn't need to know including how his back was hurting from the drive - too much sitting. They'd been on the road over an hour now. Maybe it was time to stretch and maybe he wouldn't offer to drive.
Sam pulled the car into the parking lot of a strip mall. The travelers got out and walked to a little café tucked in the corner. "I didn't think this place would still be here." Sam held the door for the Admiral. "When we were kids, Dad always stopped here for coffee and so mom could make sure we all went to the bathroom."
"I'm not taking you to the john, Sam. You're a big boy now."
"There's something to grateful for." He pointed to a booth. "Sit down."
"Yes, sir." Al slid across the worn vinyl seat and looked around. "Don't see places like this very often. I feel like I should order fries and gravy."
Sam sat across the table. "You hungry again?"
"I like to eat." A few springs had sprung in the faded seats and his back was sore. "I think these benches are older than you."
"They were old when I was a kid."
The waitress came by. Her name was embroidered on the pocket of her pink uniform. She was probably the same woman little Sammy had bring him chocolate milk about thirty years earlier. "Hello, gentlemen. My name is Geraldine. What can I do you for?"
Al flirted with her, "Coffee any good?"
She'd seen flirting before and she dished it out as well as she took it. "Hasn't been good for forty years, but you never can tell. Today might be the day, big boy. Want to give it a shot?"
"Ah, darling, if you serve it, maybe miracles will happen."
Smiling at Sam she asked, "This one is all talk, isn't he?"
"You got his number pretty quick."
Laughing at her customers, Geraldine had to ask Sam, "You still like chocolate milk, Dr. Beckett?"
Al was stunned. "You recognize him?"
"Heck, John Beckett came through here at least once a month for thirty years. His kids always had chocolate milk. He looks just like his dad and it's not like the news hasn't been filled with stories about him this week." Turning her attention to the Admiral she said, "Should you be drinking coffee, Mr. Astronaut? Didn't you hurt your kidneys or something?"
Al laughed out loud and slapped the table. "Geraldine, come home with me."
"Honey, you can't handle me. You New York boys don't know what to do with real women."
Their game was getting more fun. "I could use a teacher if you're interested."
"You could use a leash." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Now, what do you boys want?" She looked at Al and smiled, "Other than me."
Al gave up and smiled at the waitress. "If you have root beer that's ice cold, I'll take one."
"Got it, hon. What about you Dr. Beckett?"
"Chocolate milk, of course."
Geraldine left shaking her head, but smiling at her guests. Al watched her walking away, her sensible shoes making squishing noises on the linoleum floor. "I like her."
"Root beer in the morning?"
"I told you before. It's nectar of the gods and therefore appropriate any time of the day." Al adjusted his position a little. The seating wasn't being kind to his aching bones.
Sam noticed the squirming. They'd only been traveling just over an hour and the Admiral was looking beat. "You're hurting more, aren't you."
"No, I'm not. I'm hurting just the same. The farther along we are in all this the more I feel the damage. For it to last this long, he really must have been beating the shit out of me."
The images of a week earlier flashed in Sam's head. Chuck's boot slammed into the unconscious Admiral's chest time after time and then the big man picked up his prey and threw him, literally tossed him into the cold water like a sack of trash. He'd never seen anyone attempt to murder someone before. The fact that the victim was his best friend made the memory even uglier.
"I don't know how long you were out before I got down there. When I saw him beating you, you were unconscious. Katie thinks you were knocked out even before she got into the house."
"You mean he kept hitting me when I couldn't fight back?"
"Hitting, kicking, stomping, tossing you like a rag doll. I thought you were dead. It was pretty scary to see you floating in the lake face down." He paled at the recollection.
The more Sam talked, the more it sounded like the torture he had for six years all those years ago, more of his past coming up. "I don't need to hear more."
"That's okay. I don't want to think about it anyhow." He looked into the eyes of his partner. Talking seemed superfluous, but the silence was too scary. "I know we've been friends for a few years now. I've pretty much considered you my best friend since . . ." he couldn't pinpoint a time. "You have to know how I feel." Sam looked close to tears again.
"Kid, you got to stop. I know and you know. That's enough."
Sam held his words as Geraldine brought their drinks and left them again. Then in softer tones, he told his friend, "Something needs saying, Al and I don't know what it is."
"Maybe that's because it doesn't need saying. Not everything important has to have words to back it up." He took a gulp of his root beer. "Now, drink your milk and go potty."
Sam laughed his milk right out his nose. Timing is everything and Al had it down to an art. Years of doing the same thing to other children in the orphanage made him expert. Sam reached for the tin container of paper napkins. "I'll get you for this, Calavicci."
"Empty threat, Beckett. Empty threat."
They got back in the car and arrived in Oak Park just after one o'clock. The hotel was easy to miss, a simple door in a turn of the century brownstone building. Once the car stopped at the door, a valet and bellman ran up. Fifteen minutes later, they were ushered into an elegant suite that had all the amenities Al liked, but an ambience of classic old world.
Sam was impressed. "This is nice."
"Great place, here. I like it better than the downtown hotels. Feels more like a home than a hotel." He hung his coat in the closet. "Oak Park's downtown is two blocks away. Terrific little bookstore there called Barbara's. I think I'm going lie down."
As much as he wanted to ask, Sam kept quiet. It would be easy enough to watch the Admiral since they were sharing a suite. He understood the mention of the bookstore was an invitation to leave the room for a little while. Al wanted time alone and even though Sam wanted to stay, he gave the Admiral the space he asked for. "Anything you interested in reading?"
"Don't think so." He started toward his bedroom. "I'm going to call Janet again. See if she got my medical records. Have fun." After walking into the bedroom, he closed the door.
Sam walked out of the suite thinking that maybe some time alone for his own thoughts was a good thing, spend some time at a good bookstore, walk around a nice old town. Maybe it was for the best. After getting basic directions at the front desk, he walked toward town enjoying the town square and thinking that Al was probably the best person to travel with. He knew places that other people took for granted. Had Sam been in charge of hotel reservations, he'd find the closest Holiday Inn. That was predictable. Al was anything but predictable.
The bookstore held an eclectic selection. Sam found John Irving's latest novel Cider House Rules and thought it would be perfect for the flight back to Washington. Even though Al didn't indicate any interests in getting something from the store, Sam thought he'd pick up Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose for him. Seemed like Al's kind of reading, a murder mystery set in Italy during the 14th century. He was in line to make his purchases when a stack of Newsweek Magazines caught his eye. While not the cover picture, across the top banner read, Attempted Murder of Hero Astronaut. A small inset had Al's smiling face from his NASA days. He debated, but figured they'd better know what was out there. Reaching down, Sam picked up Time, Newsweek and People, not his typical reading, but in this case he'd make an exception.
Back at the hotel, Sam sat in the living room of the suite foregoing his novel for a look at the latest mass media coverage of the debacle with Chuck. Al wasn't going to be happy. Each article was written to exaggerate the heroics of the event. The story in People had Al wrestling Katie from the arms of an enraged Chuck who was beating her. Somehow, there were photos of Al being brought into the hospital on a stretcher, the IV in his arm and a worried Noble Prize winner at his side. Katie was crying on her mother's shoulder and the entire thing was as exploitative as the smarmiest grocery store rag. The invasion of privacy angered him more than he thought possible. People even managed to find a photo of the Admiral when he returned home from Vietnam barely weighing 90 pounds and still bearing the marks of his imprisonment. The absolute betrayal was the inclusion of two photos A.J. had taken that the magazine admitted were sold to them by the 24 hour photo shop A.J. had his film processed. Sam was enraged. His family's torment was entertainment now.
While he wanted to throw the magazines at the wall, he opted for putting them in the trash and then pulled them out. He'd offer them to Al. The suite had a small fireplace. Maybe later they could ritually burn them. It was after six and Sam decided to peek in on the resting Admiral. The scientist's stomach was growling a little and the promise of good seafood sorely anticipated.
The bedroom door was closed, but Sam quietly cracked it open a bit. Al was still sleeping. Sam debated waking him. The man's body was telling him to rest, but he wasn't going to get much rest during the night if he remained asleep now. Starting with a soft call, Sam said, "Al, wake up. It's late." The Admiral didn't respond. Sam put the back of his hand against Al's forehead just to be sure. No temperature and Sam sighed in relief. His hand found itself on Al's shoulder. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up."
Al slowly rose from the depths of slumber. "What do you want?"
"Nice to see you, too. It's past six. I'm hungry and you promised to pay for dinner tonight."
"No, I didn't." He sat up and stretched still feeling the aches of his battery. "I said we'd go to dinner tonight, but pay?"
"My family fed you for a week. You owe me dinner."
Al laughed. "Okay, kid. Call down for reservations in half an hour."
"What's the name of the place?"
"Philander's"
"Philanderer?"
Al threw his legs over the edge of the bed, simultaneously annoyed and amused. "Yes, Sam. They named the restaurant after a man who cheats on his wife. The restaurant is called Philander's. The guy's name was Philander Barkley." He stood up and threw a pillow at his buddy. "Now go away so I can take a shower."
An hour later, Sam was chomping on a shrimp cocktail like he'd never eaten before. Al opted for the Lobster Vanilla Bisque which made Sam's lip curl. "Vanilla in soup? That sounds awful."
Once again, Sam's food wimpiness had Al shaking his head. "You just spent a week eating Midwest food, albeit good food, excellent even, but break out, Sam. Experiment. Lobster has a sweetness to it. Vanilla is perfect."
"These shrimp are perfect. You eat dessert first. I'll stick with these."
When the next course came, Sam debated when to tell Al about the magazines. He took a bite of his Caesar salad and watched Al enjoying pears and figs with Balsamic vinegar and blue cheese. "You know, my food is terrific, but watching you is making me ill."
"Wimp."
Sam stalled. He had to tell Al about the magazines, but he knew full well how the Admiral would react. Turned out it wasn't up to Sam to decide. A young man from a nearby table stopped to ask, "Excuse me, but are you Admiral Calavicci?"
Al was surprised at the question. "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"
"If you wouldn't mind, sir, if I got a Time magazine from the hotel, would you sign it for my girlfriend?" He pointed to the blonde two tables over. "She thinks what you did was awesome."
"What I did?"
Sam looked at Al. "Time has an article about you and Chuck."
The idea seemed ridiculous. "Time? What for?"
The young man suddenly became uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner. I'll leave."
Al held up his hand to stop him. "Wait, you just surprised me."
"I won't bother you." He smiled. "But, I also think what you did was awesome."
They watched him go back to his table and continue dining with his lovely partner. Sam couldn't look up from his salad. "I'm sorry, Al."
"I was hoping this wouldn't happen."
"You thought it might?"
"You mean you didn't?"
Sam was floored. "No, I don't think I did. I wish this would all just go away."
A slice of pear found Al's mouth. "Wait until the networks start coming at you to sign for a movie of the week."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Guess again. They will and you have to swear to me that you won't sign with anyone."
"Don't worry."
A few minutes later, their waiter brought their meals. As Sam's steak and Al's crab stuffed flounder were presented Al asked the waiter, "Could you bring me a menu, one to keep?"
"Yes, sir."
Sam started cutting into his filet. "What's that for?"
"That couple. They wanted an autograph. We'll sign the menu." He took a bite of the flounder. "Why do you order steak in a seafood restaurant?"
"I ate shrimp."
"It's useless." The menu arrived. Al pulled a pen from his pocket and signed his name. Handing the pen to Sam he told him, "Sign this. Put the initials after your name. You know, the PhD, MD thing. They'll like that."
Sam signed the menu and smiled. The Admiral was tough, no one could deny that, but he had no stomach for hurting people's feelings over little things. The young couple would get their memento of the evening. Sam handed the menu back to Al. "You want all six PhDs?"
"One will do." Al put the menu to the side and they continued to eat.
Their waiter returned for a dessert order. Al asked the waiter to take the menu to the young couple and also to give him their check. Philander's was a high end place. Sam marveled, "You're feeling generous tonight."
"I want them to remember us because of this, not because of Katie and her ex."
"Good thought."
The waiter delivered his gift and the couple came to their benefactors. The woman was blushing and so excited to meet the pair. "Thank you so much for the menu, but we can't have you paying our check."
Al stood up and took her hand. "It's our pleasure." Sam stood up realizing he wasn't being an old world gentleman like his older friend.
She continued. "I'm a social worker and I work at Sarah's Inn. It's a shelter for battered women. Too many people don't get involved. Thank you."
"That's laudable work." He fumbled for a second. "I'm afraid you have the advantage. I don't know your names."
The man told them, "I'm Terry Hamilton. This is my fiancée Beth Curran. We got engaged tonight." He kissed her lightly.
Al congratulated the groom and wished the bride well. The couple excused themselves and returned to their table their souvenir menu in hand. As the travelers sat down Al mumbled, "Her name would be Beth."
Dinner was done and they weren't in their suite for 10 seconds before Al asked, "Where are those magazines?"
"You sure you want to read them?"
Al spotted the short stack on the table in front of the settee. He didn't say a word. People was on top. Grabbing it, he sat down and looked at the cover. "At least we're not cover material."
"We are. Newsweek has your NASA PR picture on the cover. A little tiny picture, but it's on the cover."
"So let's see what kind of misinformation is getting printed."
Of all the magazines, Sam dreaded People most of all. All he could do was sit back and watch the Admiral reading the distorted story and seeing the pictures he didn't need to see. It was visible to Sam's practiced eye that his friend's breathing was getting rapid and his body tensing. "You don't have to read it, Al. You lived it."
The Admiral didn't even hear his friend. His own eyes were honed in on a series of photos detailing his life, a life he protected as much as he could. "Where did they find these? Shit." A chronicle of his life was laid out over two pages.
A small picture documented his performances in Our Town. Sam tried to lighten the moment. "At least now I believe you were on Broadway."
"Oh God." He stared at a cadaverous photo of the Navy lieutenant coming home from Vietnam. "I didn't know this picture even existed. God damn it. No one needs to see that."
Sam immediately knew what Al meant. The picture was disturbing. "Yeah, when I saw that I knew you'd be upset."
Al yelled, "Upset! You think I'm upset!" The magazine flew across the room knocking over an innocent lamp in the process. The bulb shattered leaving a dark spot in the corner of the room. "They had no right to dig around like that!"
"Time and Newsweek are better. They got the story right and don't have old pictures of you." Sam hoped the Admiral wouldn't hear the cover-up in his statement.
But Al heard it just fine. "Old pictures. You said old pictures. What new pictures do they have?"
"You have to listen to me first. It's not A.J.'s fault. The photo lab made copies to sell and Time paid them. They admit that in the article." Al leaned back, his head facing the ceiling. Both hands covered his eyes. "They have pictures of us taking you into the hospital." He took a deep breath. "And two pictures that A.J. took of your injuries." The photos used were chosen for shock value and gave the world a look at the scars left by his time in Vietnam.
Time was snatched off the table. Al found the article and past feelings of humiliation gained strength. "Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it." Unfortunately old methods of dealing with adversity gained strength as well. "Let's go get drunk."
The idea had an appeal, even to Sam who was not known to get dizzy from alcohol. "You can't get drunk. You're on too many meds right now."
"Fuck that too. I don't need all that crap. I'm not some sick old man."
"You sure as hell are sick." The fiery look he got made Sam amend the statement, "Okay, not sick. You're hurt and your age has nothing to do with it."
The Admiral got up to retrieve People and replaced the lamp. "This was stupid to do." A quick inspection alleviated his concern for his destruction of property. Magazine in hand he returned to the sofa and once again thumbed through the pictorial history of his life. He stared at the reality of his ignominious return from Vietnam. The picture was taken right after the plane landed in San Diego, his first steps onto American soil. At the time, if he'd been wise, he would have allowed corpsmen to carry him down on a stretcher, but he wanted Beth to see he was able to walk, able to be her husband again. When he realized Beth was not there, the fear he carried for so long was realized. Physical and emotional pain overtook him and he collapsed as the photographer took the picture. The moment was too personal for publication, but that apparently didn't matter.
The anguish Sam witnessed on his friend's face was devastating. He walked over to Al and sat down next to him gazing at the photos that riveted Al. People captioned the photo the returning hero. Sam pointed to the picture and said, "You look like hell there."
"I felt like it." Sam's presence made him close the magazine. "Sure I can't get drunk?"
"Yeah, real sure."
"Nothing is going right." A check of his watch and he saw it was early. "I'm going to visit a friend that lives here."
"Another friend like the brunette in Delaware?"
Faking a smile, he told Sam, "No brunettes here for me." Walking to the closet to get his coat, he turned to tell Sam, "In Chi it's redheads, always redheads."
"Can I come along?"
"Three's a crowd, Sam. I thought I taught you that." Al closed the door behind him and made his way to the street. The redhead was only four blocks away, if she was home. It would have been better to call first, but she wouldn't mind. Her flat on Clinton Avenue was in a beautiful old building that went through incredible restoration to upgrade it. She asked for Al's help in the design and he took special care in making sure it met her needs and still respected the elegance of the original design.
He rang the bell and a small speaker answered him moments later. "May I help you?"
"Hannah, it's Al Calavicci."
"Al? Really?"
"Who else comes by without asking? Now open the door and let me in."
"Give me a minute, okay?"
The night was chilly and waiting didn't appeal to him, but he learned a long time ago that Hannah took her time. Truth was she had to, but it didn't matter. Once the door opened, she held out her arms and he hugged her, then he sat on her lap. Hannah was in a wheelchair. "How you doing, kid?"
"Not bad." She laughingly pushed him off her. "You're a big boy now. I hear you've had some trouble."
Al looked at the woman he'd come to visit. Hannah Gretz was Al's age; not exactly the fashion model type the Admiral was known to carouse with. Her hair was indeed red, but now streaked with gray. He told her, "Just got into town this afternoon."
She led him into her living room. "Come sit down. Tell me how you get yourself almost killed. According to the news, you're rescuing women from abusive men. My hero." The crack wasn't meant as a compliment and Al knew it.
"I didn't mean to. It just happened."
"Things always happen to you."
He tossed his coat on a chair and parked himself on the floor near her warm fireplace. "What am I going to do?"
"About what, sweetie?"
He didn't know. The question made no sense to him either. "Give me a hint."
She wheeled next to him and took his hand. "Are we in that dark place again?"
Smiling he asked, "You mean the cloak room back at the orphanage?"
Hannah met Al when they were ten and both were turned over to the Catholic orphanage in Manhattan. They played tag, kick the can, and spin the bottle, a lot of spin the bottle. "Al, you come to see me when you're scared."
"That's not fair, Hannah. I come to see you as often as I can."
"I know and you're scared a lot. Talk to me."
Even this friend from his past had never heard his stories and she wasn't going to hear them tonight. "Can't we just listen to music or relive old times in the cloak room?"
Hannah moved her foot rests out of the way, locked the wheels and slid to the floor next to Al. "Honey, reliving old times is fine by me." Her hands began to massage his shoulders. "I got scared when I heard about what happened to you. I wasn't surprised, but I was scared. You have to stop trying to be Robin Hood. Someday, you're going to run out of lives and I don't want to bury you."
He leaned against her shoulder wanting the warmth of an old friend more than anything else. "I'm not going to be lucky enough to die anytime soon."
"You stupid ass." Her hand lightly tapped the top of his head. "Lucky enough."
"Don't hit me. I've been hit enough lately."
Her arms enrobed him. "I'm sorry. You've had a rough one and I'm bopping you."
"Well, I'd like to bop you, if you know what I mean."
She held him and he relaxed with her as he hadn't relaxed in weeks. "No bopping, baby. We stopped that when we were twelve."
"Can't blame a guy for trying." Looking into her eyes he told her, "You know I love you."
"Yes, I know and we're not going to fuck that up with sex." He cuddled up with her. "You need to be quiet here?" All he could do was nod. "Okay, then I'll be quiet." She reached over to pick up a remote control on the end table. The lights dimmed and some sweet music started playing. Hannah held her friend so he could feel safe if only for a little while.
About twenty minutes later, he broke through the quiet and asked her, "Are you still teaching that Doofy Decimal stuff at Rosary?"
She sighed at his oft repeated one liner. "Yes, I'm still teaching library sciences and the Dewey Decimal System. I'll be teaching forever."
Having Hannah around would be really great and they needed someone with her skill. "Would you be willing to move to New Mexico?"
"For what?"
"A job. We're going to need an anarchist." It was another old joke.
Hannah played along with his teasing like always. "I'm an archivist, not an anarchist."
"What's the difference?"
"If you don't know, then you're in big trouble, although anarchy does have its appeal. Now, why do you need an archivist?"
Al explained the top secret project to his old friend. The joy came back in his voice when he explained the science and what the potential was. Hannah was infected by his enthusiasm and an hour later, she agreed. If he got the funding, she would finish up her term at Rosary College and move to Stallion's Gate and create the system to track all the changes in time that Sam and Al would be making.
"You going to build me an accessible home and office?"
"I designed this place for you, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you did. I love my home."
Al looked into her hazel eyes. "Okay, now you come clean with me. How's the MS going?"
Hannah smiled at him. Her health was stable and looked like it was going to stay that way. "I'm doing good, really good."
It was time for him to go. "I need you with me in New Mexico. You have to come. I'll rebuild this place down there for you, lots of air conditioning to keep your MS happy."
He kissed her and held her tight. She returned the hug and managed to find the spot on his back that hurt like hell. Hannah felt his body tighten up. "Oh, I hit something, didn't I?"
"It's getting better." Standing up, he held Hannah's chair. "Need a hand?"
She could have used one, but her friend was hurting. It wasn't good for him to be helping her off the floor. Getting up on her own wasn't impossible, but it also wasn't pretty. "No, sweetie, I'm going to stay by the fire a little longer."
Al crouched by her side. "Thanks, Hannah." He tugged at her long hair. "Too bad they don't make inkwells any more."
"Too bad they don't make cloakrooms." She kissed him on the lips, the way you kiss a lost love. "Don't go saving damsels in distress any more, okay? I don't know what I'd do if you went away for good. Please, Al, be more careful."
"Just for you, Hannah." One more tug on her hair, then he picked up his coat. "See you in New Mexico in a few months."
Hannah smiled and gave her buddy thumbs up. "You bet." Al walked out into the cold night leaving Hannah to pick herself up and get on with her life.
It was past midnight when Al found Sam snoring on the couch. "Hey, wake up!"
Sam came back to the world of the awake after a big yawn and a fist rubbing his eye. "Where have you been?"
"I told you. In Chicago, it's redheads."
"I hope you had fun."
"I did and before you get on me I want you to know I hired an archivist for Quantum Leap." Sam was shocked that Al would hire someone in such a crucial position without his input. "Oh, don't look at me like that. The redhead is an old friend. We grew up in the orphanage together. Hannah was my first girlfriend. For twenty years, she's been a professor of library science specializing in archival systems. She's perfect and you'll like her." He put his coat away. "So go to bed. That's where I'm going."
Sam was not pleased with the disappearing act Al pulled. "You have a slew of medications to take. Did you do any drinking?"
The Admiral spun around. "That's my decision to make, not yours. You don't want to trust me, then that's fine, but don't act like my God damned father. He's been out of my life for 42 years now and you don't have the legs to be my mother."
"Just stop it, Al. Getting angry at me isn't going to make the magazines go away and why did you hire someone without bringing me in on it?"
"Hannah Gretz is one of the top archivists in the country. Now, you tell me how many archivists do you know? Quantum Leap is your science, but it's our project and if you don't trust me to hire an archivist, then screw it. I can find better ways to occupy my time. I don't need you or five years of meddling in time." He started out hating every word he said knowing it was braggadocio based on his own fears and taken out on someone he knew wouldn't desert him. If he had sense, he'd apologize, but he didn't want to. His bedroom beckoned and he stormed into it hoping his encounters with people were over for the night.
Sam understood the Admiral was fighting demons, but it hurt every time the guy spouted off and said things he shouldn't. This was the first time Al said anything about leaving Quantum Leap though. The whole thing just didn't seem worthwhile if Al wasn't there. Maybe Gooshie could replace the Admiral. He felt empty all of a sudden and priorities started to get into another order. Al and his mental and physical health moved ahead of Quantum Leap, not just for the moment, but forever. Rather than making him feel better, the knowledge made his heart heavy. The Admiral's complexity wasn't going to make it easy for Sam.
The physicist was tired himself. He wanted sleep, but he had to check on his friend one more time. When he got to the bedroom door, he knocked carefully. Barging in wasn't going to win him any points. "Al, can I come in?"
A tired voice whispered, "Yeah."
Sam walked in and found Al sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He admitted to the Admiral, "I'm sorry. I trust you to hire anyone you think we need."
"Good." There wasn't a move made. His stillness was near trancelike.
The exit he wanted to make did seem to be to be working. "I'm going to sleep."
Al slowly turned to look at Sam. "You'll like Hannah. She's good and we can trust her with information like changes in history."
"Maybe I can meet her before we go back to DC."
"Yeah, I'd like that." Sam started to leave. "Wait, kid." It was all too confusing, but he had to tell Sam, "I didn't mean it about leaving Quantum Leap. I want this."
"Me too, but only if you're there."
"If you can put up with this shit."
"Goodnight, Al. See you in the morning."
It was a useful conversation. The anger was diffused for both men. Sam would be able to rest without Al's words eating at him. Al knew Sam wasn't going to hold a grudge. Both men thought about Gooshie and cursed/blessed him and his suggestion for a road trip. The pain of the past days was a horrible brand on both of their psyches, but the results were positive in some regard. Sam saw only that positive. That was his nature, the soul of a man who trusted easily, loved unconditionally, and thought mankind was basically good. His friend didn't believe that. Yet, these two disparate men were, at the core of their being, identical twins. Their purpose in life exactly the same - to protect those who were unable to protect themselves. The Admiral used his intelligence and street life to cut through the liars and villains. Sam's intelligence was legendary, unable to be judged by current tests. He depended on it and his strong, caring heart to bring down evil. The combination of these two men was an impenetrable force that was now going to harness time to help them help others. They both slipped under the covers and turned out their lights. Sam smiled hoping to dream of the potential of the future. Al had no smile, knowing he'd dream of potential left behind.
The jungle was ugly. He hated it. There was a reason he was a pilot. He wanted the freedom of flight, the sound of wind, the brush of sunlight. Now, he was grounded for how many years? He didn't remember any more. All he did was try to get through another day hoping not to get chosen to be amusement for the guards, but lately that prayer wasn't getting answered. They pulled him from his cage that morning so early that light was barely beginning to filter through the rotting leaves. His body only wore tattered shorts. Bare feet stumbled along the trail to the ring, the center of the camp where a playground of terror was designed to make life hell. It was going to be a long day.
In the next room, Sam dreamt of his father. It was the day his parents received word about Tom and they had to break the news to their surviving children. Katie had gone to a friend's house after school, but Sam came home running most of the way. Representatives from MIT met with him at school and they were offering a full scholarship. He ran up the steps of the white farm house and sensed something was wrong. His father and mother were sitting together in the parlor, their arms around each other.
When he walked in, they separated a bit and asked him to sit down. With calm simple words, his father told him that his brother Tom was dead and wouldn't be coming home. Thelma started crying again. John tearfully put his arm around her. It was one of the few times young Sam witnessed his father crying. His mother was becoming inconsolable. She ran outside and yelled to the skies, "No! Please no!"
The screams changed though. They began to come from some other place, some other voice and Sam woke up startled from sleep by hideous screams from the next room. He bolted from bed and ran to find Al the source of the desolate wailing. There was no time for subtlety. Al had to be awakened immediately. Sam took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Al, wake up. You're dreaming, Al. Come on!"
Al sat upright panting, out of breath and still in terror. He saw Sam and realized it was another dream, but it wasn't going away. The heels of both hands pounded against his forehead. Sam pulled the hands down, "Don't. You're okay. Try to breathe slower."
"Oh, God." He tried to follow Sam's advice, but it wasn't happening. The Marquis was still there and the cattle prod was set off in his back again. An excruciating scream sounded out and Sam did what had worked the other night. The younger man took the Admiral in his arms and held Al like his mother had. A week before, Al would have pushed Sam away, but at last he admitted he couldn't do this alone. Sam would help. Sam wanted to. The terror began to lessen and Sam wiped away a small line of tears. He would shed no more.
As his friend began to relax, Sam loosened his grip. Al gently pushed a little and Sam backed off. "Can I get you anything?"
His first thought was a new life, but he opted to ask for water. While Sam was out of the room Al accessed the damage. His body ached. The bruise over his kidney was hurting like hell. "God damn dreams." He ran his fingers through his hair and found it dripping wet. He murmured, "This has got to stop."
"That would be nice." Sam handed Al a towel. "You may want to throw this around your neck. You're a little sweaty."
"Observant, aren't you?" He put the towel around him and was grateful for the little bit of warmth it provided. "Thanks."
Sam offered the glass of water to his friend. Al's hand reached out but he was shaking too much to take it. It would be easy help Al while he drank, but Sam didn't know how the Admiral would react to the suggestion. Al coughed, his throat parched and needing the water badly. "Listen, I could hold the glass for you if you want." The offer was accepted. Sam pulled up the side chair and held the glass at Al's lips. His other hand supported his head. Al gulped down almost the entire glass before he gestured for it to be taken away. The air in the room took on a chill and Al pulled the towel around his cold shoulders. Sam said, "If you want, I can sit here awhile until you get back to sleep."
The Admiral's deep, dark voice said, "No questions tonight? Usually you want to know what it was all about."
"No questions. If you want me to know, you'll tell me."
"Not necessarily, kid." Bloodshot eyes looked at his young friend. "See, I want you to know, but I don't have the guts to tell you."
"I don't believe that."
Al grimaced. "I don't know why people think I'm brave. Shit, all I want to do is crawl into a hole and hide, but no one gives me the chance to."
"I guess we don't see you like that. We see the results of your actions and they look brave to us."
Al sat there and thought he had a chance here, the chance to do something courageous. Sam said they were brothers now. "I'm not sure I can do this, but I want to try. Just be patient and when I want to stop, then we stop."
Sam's own heart started pounding. "You call the shots, Al. What do you want me to do?"
The torment was obvious, but Al looked into Sam's eyes and said, "Just listen, okay?" Sam agreed and Al began telling the tale of his dream. "Okay, okay." He stumbled a few times trying to get started. "Okay." The words wouldn't come. His eyes closed against the images and at long last, he started. "This is what it was like that day."
His wrists were tied with rough rope, his arms outstretched and tied so high that his feet couldn't touch the ground. The pain always surprised him. He thought he'd be used to it by now. His back was to the rising sun and the day already so hot that he saw wisps of evaporation rise from the rain-soaked vegetation. They'd done this to him before. By evening, he'd be covered in blisters from the sunburn, but at least they wouldn't be beating him until tomorrow when they could burst open the blisters and enjoy watching his body gain more scars.
But this wasn't going to be the usual torment. They had a new game in mind and left Al in the dark about the rules. They stripped him naked and chained his ankles to a metal bar leaving him spread-eagled in the air. The bar added another twenty pounds of weight pulling down on his arms and his right shoulder popped. The guards had one more surprise for him. A long bamboo pole was pressed against the small of his back. Three men pushed on it until Al's back arched so high his head fell back. The pole was anchored and knew he was going to die. This was his day.
The pole sent stabbing pain throughout his body. The sunlight made his eyes burn no matter how hard he shut them against its rays. He made a promise that he would not cry out or scream. They wanted him to beg for mercy and it wasn't going to happen. Then the first lash came down across his gut. He twisted against the ropes and the pole. The whimper was small, but he wouldn't let them hear a scream. It wouldn't happen today.
By noon, the half dead lieutenant was a burned, blistered pathetic shell. Pain numbed his mind. The immensity of the aching was incomprehensible, but he kept his promise. He had not screamed nor made any sound beyond that first small indiscretion. All he needed now was to die and as far as he was concerned, he was ready. Problem was the VC weren't ready. They had other things in mind.
He coughed out a stray bug that lit in his mouth. The guard called Marquis yelled at him in Vietnamese. Before his fatigued brain could translate the words, the cattle prod jammed into his gut and discharged three times. Nothing was in his stomach, but he vomited, each wretch pushing the pole deeper into his back. Stomach acid mixed with blood as his mouth filled with whatever was in him to throw up. He couldn't help muted cries of pain. The sound brought laughter from the Marquis. It was what he wanted.
The cattle prod found the bottom of Al's foot. The voltage was at max. Al's body contorted involuntarily and his pain began to find a voice. "No, stop." He still wouldn't beg. The prod discharged two more times on his leg and the shock threw Al's body off the pole. The bamboo dropped to the ground. Al dropped too, but the jungle floor was inches away from bringing relief. The whimpers grew in size to agonizing breathless groans.
Two more guards joined the party and whips landed hard against his blistered body. The groans became louder and louder. His promise would be broken. "Please, no more. Please!" That only brought more laughter and more jolts from the prod. The Marquis placed the electric torture against the bruise made by the bamboo pole. The device fired and Al felt his insides explode. The scream was uncontrollable.
That was the scream that brought Sam into Al's room almost an hour earlier. Now, the two men sat staring out in front of them focusing on nothing in particular, trying to understand the ugliness of Al's truth. Sam's spirit was devastated by the story. It was inhuman and still Al survived. When the Admiral could speak again, he told Sam, "So, there it is, another day that I'm ashamed of."
Sam was baffled by Al's words. "Ashamed? Why?"
"I shouldn't have begged them to stop. They got what they wanted from me. I didn't have the guts to stand up to them."
Again, tears were heard in the room, but they were Sam's "My God, is that what this has been about? You feel ashamed?" He had to wipe his face before continuing. "Oh, Al. No one could live through that and not break. Shit, you're human, a man, not God and I'm not sure how God would do."
"I broke. I would have given them anything. I would have done anything. Truth is I did do things there Sam, that I don't know if I'll ever tell anyone." The quiet was uneasy. "What time is it?"
Sam checked the clock. "Just after three."
"I'm going back to sleep. Hopefully you won't find me curled up behind the chair in the morning. I've done that at home on occasion." Sam didn't move. He felt unable to. "Are you okay, Sam?"
Working hard to get up Sam told his friend, "No, I'm not okay, but I will be. Goodnight, Al."
"Goodnight, kid."
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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.
Man of La Mancha © Dale Wasserman, Mitchell Leigh and Joe Darion