Message-ID: <19980104233247.2531.qmail@hotmail.com> From: "Carol Belyea" Subject: Chances - Chapter Five Date: Sun, 04 Jan 1998 15:32:46 PST Chapter Five He felt dizzy. The linoleum was cold. He had no idea what had happened in the past few moments. First he and Sam were arguing, two shots rang out and there was silence. Except for the alarm sirens. His ears rang violently caused by the sirens echoing their song throughout the halls. He moaned and turned his head from side to side. Sam was right next to him. He was knocked out and his lab coat was drenched with blood. The first thought that came to his mind was that Sam lay dead in front of him. He gathered up just enough strength to speak. "Sam? God, no." His voice was hoarse and his hands were slick with blood. He tried squirming just a little bit closer to Sam but found his legs wouldn't obey him. He beckoned his friend once more. "Sam, wake up. Please . . ." Then Al fell unconscious. The gunman staggered out of the elevator's sanctuary. He carried the .45 in his right hand. Looking down with a face engraved with hate, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and spoke. "You deserved it, you sons of bitches. Both of you!" He slurred his words. He was drunk and also convinced that Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci were traitors to the employees. Using them for the money. Now, he was sure he'd done his rebellious job and the duo lay dead in front of his eyes. "Freeze!!" The gunman heard the command from behind him. Almost hysterically, he twirled around, shooting aimlessly in all directions and screaming, "They deserved it!! They're dead!" The M.P. took cover around the corner, hoping what the man said wasn't true, and managed to get a few shots passed his protective wall. Only after his third shot rang out that he heard no more shots coming from the enemy. A quick peek into the corridor and the M.P. saw the gunman lying dead in a pool of his own blood. The walkie talkie attached to the M.P.'s belt made sounds close enough to be human. Then a voice on the other end said, "Corporal! Corporal Jenkins!" It was the chief of security. "Jenkins, what the hell is going on down there?!" Jenkins swiftly grabbed his walkie talkie and yelled, "Sir, there's been a shooting! We have three men down!!" The chief replied, "We're on our way!" The alarm was still sounding. Jenkins heard heavy leather boots stomping down the corridor by then. There had to be at least five of them. As soon as they arrived to the scene, they began examining the bodies. Sam was still knocked out from hitting his head on impact to the ground. The gunman was dead. But Al was unconscious caused by blood loss. Then the med. team finally arrived. *************************** "I wanna see Al!!" Sam demanded to Dr. Bryce. They stood in Dr. Bryce's almost barren office in the Albuquerque hospital. Sam had been so preoccupied worrying about Al that he hadn't taken the time to change into fresh clothes. He managed to get rid of his lab coat but his clothes under it were still covered with dark red blotches of blood. Al's blood, Sam realized. Only a few hours had passed and they'd been through a complete catastrophe. After the incident in the hall, Al had been taken to the ER at Albuquerque General. As it turned out, his injuries were far too severe for the inadequate Project Infirmary. Dr. Christopher T. Bryce was a stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair. He was one of the hospital's top neurosurgeons. Sam briefly wondered why they called for a neurosurgeon. Upon coming out of surgery, Sam repeated the same demand. "Let me see him!" "Jesus Christ, Sam. He just came out of a difficult one and a half hour surgery. Let him get some rest." A shiver was sent down his spine as a thought came to him. "Difficult? Why difficult?" "These kinds of situations are always difficult." "Please," Sam pleaded, "You gotta let me see him." "I won't repeat myself." Sam had finally had it. "Then I'll go without your permission." Sam tried to maneuver around his fellow doctor. Bryce stopped him by grasping Sam's shoulders and finally looking him in the eye for what he was about to say. "All right. Have it your way. But before you go in there, there's something you should know." **************************** Albuquerque, NM September 8, 2000 Light. The first thing he saw was light. In fact, the only thing he saw was light. His eyes were barely cracked open and the intense morning light that poured through the hospital's white curtains was enough to make his head ache even more that it did already. Then his ears finally opened up to sound and he heard snoring coming from his left. He was too tired, though, and hurt to much to turn his head and attempt to look to see who was with him. Then whoever was there stirred a bit before finally cracking his eyes open. "Al?" It was Sam. "You awake?" Al moaned and suddenly felt a dull ache in his abdomen. "I think so." His ears piped up with more sound. This time it sounded like humming machines. A heart monitor and various others. He felt an oxygen tube in his nose and an IV taped into his arm. "What happened?" He asked drowsily. Sam slowly leaned forward. The words he was about to say he tried hard not to believe. But sometimes, the truth had to be said no matter how ugly it might seem. "You . . . were shot." "God. . ." Al rolled his head on the pillow. "I know. I know." Sam said in grief. "I thought you were shot." Then his eyes widened a bit. "You're okay, right?" Sam looked at him in confusion. He was the one that was supposed to be worrying. Not Al. "Me? Yeah, I'm okay. But . . ." Al cut him off. "Before I keeled over I saw you covered in blood. I freaked out." "Al, there's no easy way to say this." "Say what?" His eyes couldn't stay open anymore. Never in all his life had Sam lingered on the thoughts before him. To tell the best friend he's ever had that something drastically tragic has happened to them. And this was Al he was facing. How could someone who's had so much catastrophe in their life survive with yet another obstacle? It was mind boggling the way the human race worked and Al Calavicci got his fair share of the unexplainable. Sam shook his head from confusion. He needed to say it. He needed to tell him. What Sam expected to be a blunt statement in reality came out a mere whisper. "You're paralyzed." Al was so tired that he barely heard it. "Paralyzed?" He asked, half asleep. He huffed and said, "I've had worse days." "I don't think so." He bit his lip and braced himself to quote Dr. Bryce's words. "You've taken two bullets to your abdomen. It's a miracle they didn't hit any of your internal organs." The Admiral was annoyed with the tech talk. "Quit sounding like a damn doctor, Beckett. Spill what you have to and get it over with." Reluctant, Sam said, "If you want it that way. One of the bullet's severed your spinal cord. They said that there's no possible chance of recovery." "Meaning?" "You won't be able to walk again." He stated it all in one breath and hung his head. Cynical as always, Al didn't believe him. "Oh, what a crock." "This isn't a joke, Al! Believe it or not, this is reality." His voice was fading fast and he had no strength left to argue. He simply lay down the bottom line. "Don't talk to me about reality, kid. I've been dealing with it since I was seven years old and there's no reason to stop now." Sam knew Al wasn't going to last much longer. Sleepwise. He was fading really fast. So Sam took the opportunity to apologize. He took the older man's hand and could've sworn he felt it weakly try to pull away. It didn't go anywhere. "Al?" Sam whispered in his ear. Al groaned. "Al," He said again, "I'm sorry. For all those nasty things I said. I'm sorry this ever happened." "You apologize one more time and I'll pop you one." was the last thing Al said before falling back to sleep. **************************** After deciding there was nothing more to do at the hospital, Sam bolted back to the Project. He had a conference with the Chief of Security and found who the would-be assassin was. Jeremy Banes was a technician on level 7, sector E-5. His wife had left him three days prior to the shooting. They suspected that Banes was merely an unsatisfied employee. "Unsatisfied employee!? My best friend is lying in a hospital bed, paralyzed for life and it's all because of some psycho's dissatisfaction with his job!? I don't buy it, Chief. He wouldn't go off on a shooting spree just because he didn't like his job! Even if he was drunk and his wife left him, why would he want to hurt Al? What's his motive there?" Sam paced around the conference room in front of Chief Wiley. "Dr. Beckett. Banes' blood alcohol content was so high . . ." Sam cut the Chief off. "I don't care if his BAC was 80 proof! That's still no reason to shoot anyone if all his anger was directed toward his wife! Did you find any evidence leading to this?" "Not yet." The Chief looked and sounded extremely calm based on the situation. "A motive?" "All we found was a note his wife left him." "Where? Can I see it?" "We found it in Banes' cubical." Thoughts swirled around in Sam's head. Maybe he can find something there. Help out with the investigation and become an amateur gumshoe. "Take me to Banes' quarters." "Now, Dr. Beckett . . ." "Now, damn it!" He slammed his fist down on the table as he said it. The Chief stood abruptly from his chair. "Dr. Beckett," he said firmly, "You are being very irrational about this. I understand that you and Admiral Calavicci are quite close but I suggest that you leave the investigating to military intelligence. If you are caught doing investigating on your own, you will be suspended from this project. Understand?" Sam stared at his a moment. They can't suspend him from his own project, could they? He remembered Al telling him once that the military could be a pain in the ass and that they'd do what ever the hell was necessary. He nodded once and said, "So basically you're telling me to go fly a kite, right?" The Chief's stone cold eyes hadn't changed. "Precisely, Doctor. Now, you get out of here and keep your mouth shut about this. I don't want any media with this one." Sam took a deep breath. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. But he had no choice. "Yes, sir." and he left the conference room. ******************************* Sam sat in front of his computer screen in his office. It all happened so fast. In a matter of twenty for hours, his best friend has been paralyzed, the bad guy's dead and Sam has been warned about doing any investigating. But he's broken the rules before. Only this time, he'll need Ziggy's help. "Ziggy." Sam called. "Yes, Dr. Beckett?" her computer voice purred. "I need you to do me a favor. I need you to tap into Jerry Banes' PC." "I'm afraid I can not do that, Doctor." Sam was frustrated as it was. "Why the hell not!?" "Because, Doctor, it would be going against the specific orders Chief Wiley has given you." Sam sighed and rested both his palms on his desk. "Okay, Zig. I'm going to be real blunt with you. You get into Jerry Banes' computer or I'll rip out your entire CPU with my bare hands!!" "I don't think so, Doctor. Ripping out my CPU would shut down the entire project. We don't that to happen, do we?" "Then I'll personally see to it that your sex sensory microchip becomes lizard food!" His bribe worked and his computer beeped to tell him. He focused back to his computer and read down the list of files. There were hundreds of them. It took him almost the rest of the night to get to the last ones. After going through five cups of bad tasting coffee, he finally got to the end. The file he found surprised him so much that he thought he might actually have something for a lead. It was dated the day before. 20k Surprise! 09/07/00 Sam clicked on the file and read: To The Good Doctor, F.P. Your secret admirer Sam had no idea what to say of this. When he tried to ask Ziggy what this note meant, the power went it out. It was blacker than the blackest night down on Level 10 of PQL. --------------------------------------