"The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned." - Maya Angelou

Chapter 15

Walk the Girl Home

Sam woke up to the whiff of air-conditioned coolness, potent antiseptics, and a sweetly floral perfume that reminded him of sunflower fields back home.

"Don't move," came a gentle female voice. Those sunflowers swayed closer. They even looked yellow and cheery.

"Araceli?" he asked.

"You slept a long time. It's Thursday afternoon. You're in my cabin at the Rainbow Inn."

Sam forced his eyes open and saw Araceli wearing a yellow shirt with billowing sleeves that fit tightly on the wrists, with a deeply scooped neckline that teasingly showed the rim of a lacy black bra, ironically halting all temptation with a golden crucifix necklace. She still wore the spandex pants and heels that lit up with each step.

"This is Vicodin," she said, opening a medicine bottle. "Sancho said to give it to you as soon as you woke up."

Sam happily took the pain killer with a glass of water. He only wished it kicked in instantly.

"I owe you an apology and an explanation," she began. "I told you last night, but I'm not sure you were completely conscious. I bought a bike helmet like you said and went looking for you, but you weren't around. I waited until noon, then asked the innkeeper for you, but she said there was no one by the name of Sam Beckett staying here. Luckily, she remembered you and said you signed the paperwork as Theodore Nyt. That was fishy, I didn't want to get caught up in something bad so … well, I … sort of took your bike," she admitted sheepishly. "But," she added quickly, "I gave the innkeeper the keys to my truck to give to you. I figured it wasn't stealing, but an even trade, your bike for my truck."

"My bike, that works perfectly, for your truck, which is broken and will take a week to get the parts," he pointed out.

She cringed away. "I know, but I was worried. A strange man buys me dinner, sets me up in a motel, gives me a thousand bucks, offers to drive me home … and you gave a false name to the innkeeper. Or to me," she said with a suspicious pout. "So, which is it? Theodore or Sam?"

"It's…" He paused and waffled over the answer. "…complicated," he sighed.

She accepted that in frustration. "So, I thought it was safest to get out of town as fast as I could. A lady at the Allsup warned me about a known rapist that has been hiding in this town since last weekend. Police are looking for him. Is that why you took pity on me? You heard about him and … and you didn't want me sleeping in the open. You seemed so desperate to get me out of this town. Was it because of the rapist?"

"Something like that." He remembered what Al said about the original history, that Araceli had been raped and murdered.

"I figured, you were a nice guy, so you'd understand. I even wrote you a letter telling you where to find me later, and I'd give the bike back at that time, even compensate you. I just had a bad feeling and wanted to get out of town."

"Probably for the best," he agreed. "What changed your mind?"

"I got to Alamogordo and stopped for lunch. I got lost looking for a Carl's Jr., then it began drizzling, so I pulled over and searched your bags for a jacket. That's when I found … the money." She eyed him distrustfully. "You said before, you were a millionaire. I didn't think that might mean you had a few million on you right now. You said you were heading to Mexico. I figured it must be stolen or some type of fraud. You might hunt me down, think I took your money, so I hurried back to apologize. When I arrived here, Sancho was hanging around the inn, like he was waiting for me. He told me you were in trouble, and he needed my help to save you. He made it sound … sort of exciting," she admitted with a blush, "like I was the heroine in some action movie. Then he said, by taking the bike, I had endangered you worse. I felt guilty," she confessed. "So I went with him and did whatever he told me to do. Such a stereotype, sending in the chick as a distraction, but neither one of us could come up with anything better. I'm glad it worked, but … I'm very sorry you got hurt so badly. If you could've given them the money—"

"They would've killed me," Sam said over her. "In a way, not being able to give them the money saved my life." He smiled warmly. "Thank you. You didn't have to help."

She looked aside and blushed. "I couldn't just leave you."

"Yes, you could've," he said. "Now I've gotten you involved. What happened to that other guy? How did he know I was there?"

"Sancho? I don't know how he knew. Maybe he followed them after they captured you. He said he was a friend of yours. Do you know him?"

"I … don't know," he admitted. He squinted his eyes against pain and lack of memories.

"Well, he's a doctor of some sort. I thought for sure you'd need a trip to the hospital, but he patched you up good. Not much we can do about the muscle that was removed, but he said it won't cause permanent damage. Whoever those bastards were, they weren't aiming to completely disable you. Then, a little after lunch, he left, just said everything would be fine with you, time was up for him, and he had to get back home."

"So, why are you still here? Why did you stay? You saw what those men are willing to do. You don't want to get involved."

"I may be a bad Catholic, but I'm not that bad," she said, folding her arms stubbornly. "You're helpless at the moment. You need someone to protect you."

Sam had to cough out a laugh despite the pain. "So much for saving the damsel in distress."

"Not this mamacita," she chuckled boldly. "Who were those men? I hope they weren't the good guys."

"Would good guys do all this?"

She peered over his beaten face, frowned, and looked out her window. "What's your story? I told you what's up with me, living in my truck and all. If we're gonna ride together, I should know about you."

Ride together? Did she really still trust him that much? Then he saw that her eyes were not just diverted, they were searching. He guessed there must still be people looking for him.

"They're with the Mafia," he confessed. "I did some stupid things, and now they're after me."

"Stupid things? Like the money?"

"Yeah, the money."

Araceli nodded, contemplating this new information. "You didn't kill anyone, right?"

"No." At least, he hoped not. Theodore Nyt did not seem the type. "But they killed … someone close to me. I don't want you getting involved in all this."

"Chivalrous, but I'm already involved. Those two got a good look at me. I couldn't find a place that sells wigs, and I don't want to cut my hair even shorter. I tried to style it differently, at least."

Sam could not be sure on the style, since she had been wearing a hat before.

"There were people searching the motel rooms earlier. I don't think they realized these detached units were part of the inn. Still, they could return."

"Then you should go," he insisted. "Take the bike, take the money even, I don't care about it anymore. Just get out of this town and be safe."

"I can't leave you helpless like this," she sighed. "Look, you can't ride with your arm like that, but I can. You can hold on with one arm. So, how I see it, once you can move around, we'll leave, with me riding the bike and you holding on. When we get to Socorro, we'll figure out what to do from there."

Sam saw a flash as the Imaging Chamber door opened and Al stepped out wearing a strikingly bright turquoise shirt with a glaring red tie that made the eyes twitch just looking at it.

"Sam, I know you're likely in a world of pain, but those bastards are coming back for another sweep of the place. Ziggy says this time they'll find you two."

Sam sat up in the bed. His shirt was gone, and a bandage was wrapped around his trunk to support the broken rib. The Vicodin must have started working, because he did not feel quite as much pain as he figured he should.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"We have to get out of here," he insisted. "Where are my clothes?"

"We have your jacket. I don't know about your shirt. It was gone when we found you. Your room was thrashed by those Mafia goons. If you can wait, I'll go buy a shirt for you."

"No time!" shouted Al.

"Just give me one of yours," Sam said, forcing himself up. They might be in a rush, but a trip to the bathroom was mandatory.

Al followed Sam into the tiny room. "You have maybe five minutes. The good news is, Ziggy says there's an 80% chance that the reason you're here is, not to make sure Theodore Nyt makes it to Mexico, but to save Araceli de la Rosa and get her home to her parents."

Sam still felt unsteady. Looking in the mirror, he saw that one side of Theodore's face was swollen, his eye was puffy and purple, and he had an anemic look to him now. "Since when have these Leaps been about 'walking the girl home'?" he mused, trying to cheer himself up and take his mind off the bloodied bandages around his arm. "However, I'm sort of glad. Having my goal to be something noble, not just running away, feels better."

"Feels better?" exclaimed Al. That was so typical of Sam, he had to laugh. "I swear, you think you're a knight errant."

Sam remembered what the man last night said, calling himself Sancho, Araceli was Dulcinea, and saying Sam was their Don Quixote. "Does Ziggy know anything about this guy Sancho?"

"Not a thing. Sancho's not exactly a rare name, and it could even be a moniker. Ziggy attempted a facial analysis, but it came up with nothing. Who knows!" laughed Al. "Maybe he's another guardian angel."

When Sam exited the bathroom, Araceli already had her things packed. She held out a t-shirt with an apologetic look. "It's the largest I have. I usually sleep in it, but it should work."

Sam took the gray shirt with two baby white tigers cuddled together in an adorable pose. Al burst into laughter. Araceli shrugged again and muttered that she was sorry.

"It's … cute," Sam said with a forced grin.

A/N:

I have this white tiger cubs t-shirt. I use it as an oversize nightshirt. It really is cute and comfortable.

Araceli got lost looking for Carl's Jr. because there are none in Alamogordo. They have about every fast food joint you can imagine, but when you're craving that portobello six-dollar burger, McDonald's just won't cut it. (Now I'm hungry!)