From Charlie's learner permit, Sam had learned he was in LA. "Are those the gas prices?" Sam asked, open mouthed. Surely gas couldn't be close to $3 a gallon. It was outrageous.
"I know," Don said. "They're starting to come down a little."
Don pulled up to a huge craftsman style home. Judging from the size of the house, Charlie was doing quite well for himself.
Sam fumbled through the keys on Charlie's chain and finally let them in. They found an older man sitting in the living room doing a crossword puzzle.
"Hey, pop," Don said.
"Hey, pop," Sam echoed. Scratch the part about Charlie doing well for himself. This guy was obviously a pathetic loser with no driver's license who still lived at home with his parents.
The father barely glanced up. "You staying for dinner, Donnie?"
Don settled himself down on the couch. "Yeah."
"It'll be ready in about 20 minutes."
"I'm going upstairs," Sam announced.
He found Charlie's room easily enough. It wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared. No model airplanes, no comic books. It looked more like an extension of his office than anything else.
He walked over to the bureau and looked at Charlie again in the mirror. He ran his hands again through the hair.
"Whenever you're done primping." Sam spun around to see Al. "No, really. I can wait if you want to put in some hot curlers or something."
Sam scowled. "Do you know what the date is?" he demanded.
Al consulted the portable interface to the Quantum Leap computer he always had with him. "September 11, 2006."
"How did I leap into the future?"
Al paused for moment. "You didn't. You leaped into the past. Nine months, to be exact."
"It's June 2007?" Sam said, much too loudly. He lowered the volume of his voice. "I started leaping in 1995."
"I know, Sam," Al said, gravely. Al was usually making jokes, using big gestures. The change in him was striking.
Sam felt like he couldn't breathe. "I've been leaping for over a decade?" he said, barely above a whisper.
"It's been a long time," Al replied softly.
Sam turned and began pacing the room, scrubbing his face with his hands. Twelve years? Sam hated the black hole that was his memory. Had he been married? Had she waited that long? Did he even want her to? Would he ever go back? He put hands on top of his head. He knew that it was pointless to ask the questions out loud. No answer would make him feel any better or make any difference at all. Obviously, this was his life now and the rest of the world would just continue on without him. He suddenly felt very alone.
"What am I here to do?" he asked, trying to push everything else out of his mind.
"Well," Al said, dropping the sullen attitude and suddenly looking more like himself, "you are Charlie Eppes, a math professor at Cal Sci. You often help your brother, Special Agent Don Eppes, solve crimes using mathematical principles." Despite his sudden depression, Sam had to admit that was actually really cool. Sam's opinion of Charlie went up a couple of notches. "You devise an equation which is the key evidence against one Martin Brewster for a series of murders. Martin maintained his innocence and, right after he was convicted, he was murdered in prison. Ziggy says there's an 83.2 chance you're here to find the real killer."
Sam had no idea how he was supposed to pull this one off.
"Charlie!" Don's voice called up. "Dinner's ready."
"That's my cue," Al said. A blue doorway of light appeared and he stepped through, vanishing.
After dinner, all three men settled down to watch TV. The father flipped on the news.
"Come on, pop," Don protested. "Pre-season football."
"It's Charlie's house," the father said. "Let him decide."
Charlie's house? Charlie went up another notch in Sam's book. "I'd like to watch the news," Sam said.
The next hour was like something out of The Twilight Zone. There had been a certain comfort in traveling through the past, in knowing how things were going to turn out. The news became nothing more than re-runs. Sam watched in awe as he learned about a world he was no longer a part of. There was a war on; a war that had obviously been going on for years that Sam knew nothing about. President Bush's son was now serving his second term in office. New Orleans had been devastated by a massive hurricane.
Then they did a special report on the 5-year anniversary of Sept. 11. It was referred to simply by the date. Nothing else was obviously needed. Sam sat there, open mouthed, watching the footage of planes flying into the World Trade Center. He watched the towers fall. When they showed the huge crater where they once stood, a place now referred to simply as Ground Zero, Sam had to run to the bathroom. His entire dinner came up.
He knelt on he floor in front of the toilet. "I can't do this one," he whispered to no one in particular. "Don't make me do this one."
There was banging on the door. "You okay, Charlie?" It was Charlie's father.
"Yeah. I'm coming out," Sam called. He cleaned up the bathroom and himself before opening the door.
"Those images of 9/11. They don't ever get any easier, do they?"
Sam shook his head. "No. They don't. I think I'm going to turn in early."
"Good idea. You rest."
"You okay, Charlie?" Don asked, standing just behind his father. "Cause I'm gonna need that equation. I'm counting on you, buddy."
Sam didn't know what to say to Don. He just climbed the stairs.
"He's sick," he heard Charlie's father say, scolding Don. "He just got sick and you're hounding him about equations? You push him too hard."
Sam closed the door to his room and drowned out the rest of their conversation.