From: TajuddinA@aol.com Date: Thu, 19 Dec 1996 04:33:59 -0500 Message-ID: <961219022401_2052473195@emout13.mail.aol.com> Subject: child 4/10 "Like As a Child" pt. IV The meeting that afternoon with the social worker went well and Callie was moved into Al's apartment. She had a room set up right to Al's own and he had arranged for her to join him at the complex during the day, under Verbeena's or Tina's care while he was working. Al had worried that despite his pulling in several favors, the social worker would still ask some questions he couldn't answer and his lifestyle would be deemed unfit for Callie. But those he had spoken to for hours earlier that day had done their job and he wasn't questioned about anything that could lead to disaster. Verbeena ran a full physical on Callie just to make sure that her earlier episode, which Al had informed the social worker of in great detail, didn't stem from medical problems. All her tests turned up negative, but she still insisted, with Al's reluctant consent, on taking her to the hospital for a few additional tests, which had been an interesting reversal from their earlier stances. Al remined behind to catch up on some paperwork that he wouldn't have time for once Sam leaped in. It had been a very, very long day. He was just getting ready to go back to the apartment with Callie when Ziggy informed him that Sam had leaped in, a little earlier than usual. With a tolerant sigh, and a mumbled, "figures," Al sent Callie off to his project quarters with Tina for some sleep and went to the Waiting Room with Verbeena. As always, he waiting outside while she assesed the situation. She finished doing so rather quickly and exited to find Al seated on the floor, rubbing his eyes. "Well?" he asked, pulling out a wrapped cigar. She sighed. "Scared, confused, but cooperative. We got a name and a date, but not a whole lot more. He's still really swiss-cheesed." Al nodded, retrieving a lighter from his jacket pocket. "Not the best combination, but better than most. Ziggy?" he asked, raising his voice to address the computer. "Do you have a lock yet?" "Affirmative, Admiral. The name and date Dr. Beeks supplied have a positive match. Dr. Beckett does not appear to be in a particularly perilous situation. In which case, you have a call waiting for you on line five." "She cooks, she cleans, and she takes phone calls," Al muttered under his breath. Boy, he _must_ be tired.... "Can it wait?" "It's Francis Winters." He looked at the psychiarist and she saw the hard mask that had slammed down over his face. "I'll be back in ten minutes." "Al?" she called, raising her voice to get his attention. He stopped and gazed steadily at her. "Al, don't do anything foolish, okay?" "Sure," he said and offered a smile, but she saw right through it. Francis Winters was lucky Al couldn't evolke physical pain over the phone. "I mean it, Al. You have the potential to hurt Callie as well as help her. Remember that." Some part of what she was saying penetrated the curtain of disgust he had for Callie's father, she saw. He nodded and held her gaze a moment longer before turning. As Al left the control room, Verbeena began to enter in the data she had collected from the leapee and it was immediately entered into Ziggy's systems and added to the rapidly growing list of information Ziggy was compiling. "Getting anything?" she asked. She waited patiently as Ziggy pulled the information from her banks, linking and cross-linking as one bit of information led to another, like a giant connect-the-dot picture that created a person's life. It was disconcering to her to think that someone's being could be trivialized into numbers on a screen. She had a good way of dealing with that, though; she didn't think about it. Ziggy's mechanical voice finally responded with that oozing quality that always seemed to seep through the speakers. "Chris Walton. Age forty-two. Location: Los Angeles. Seems to have a rather dull life, by the looks of it. Dead end job, lives two miles from his parents, unambitious, and has no notable love intrests. Dr. Beckett is just going to love this one." Verbeena laughed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- The gentle clicking of any number of keyboards was the first sound. Then there was a tingling feel all over his skin. The smell of dry air, cooled to an alarming chill. The soft sloping of the keys under his own fingers. His fingers compressed what still seemed to be random keys for another second or so until the world snapped the rest of the way into focus with startling speed. Sam Beckett sat in a small cubicle with a spreadsheet on the screen in front of him. A cooling cup of coffee sat on the desk beside the computer and he sipped it absently as he took in the rest of his surroundings. A picture of a dog sat on his desk and Sam raised his eyebrows, trying to hide a grin in spite of the fact that he was alone. "Maybe I'm here to get this guy a life," he whispered to himself. The rest of the cubicle was a dumping ground of papers and files. With a sigh, Sam pawed through the papers resting in his lap and finished typing the form the leapee had been working on. A glance at his watch informed him that it was five to three in the afternoon. He decided to operate on the assumption that it was more or less a nine to five job. Then, with a jolt of inspiration, Sam emptied his coffee mug, using it as an excuse to leave confinement and get some more. The name "Chris Walton" was on the plaque outside of his cubicle, catching the light on it's gold-colored surface as he tried to pass by inconspicuously. Well, that was something, anyhow. He spotted the coffee machine in the corner and passed the rows of people to reach it. He was almost there when a woman came out of what seemed like nowhere and ran into him, dropping her armload off forms in the process. "Oh! I'm so sorry," Sam began, bending to scoop up her papers. "That's okay," she assured him, offering him a weary smile. "It was my fault really anyhow. Jody Hawkins," she added, extending her free hand. "Er, Chris Walton," he stammered, grateful that he knew his name, and equally grateful that he wasn't supposed to know her's. They shook and she withdrew her hand nervously. "Well..." she said quietly, taking the last of her papers from him, "it was nice...running into you." Sam laughed. "Same here," he said, and watched her walk off. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- "Calavicci," Al said curtly, picking up the phone. He stretched his legs, propping them up on an open drawer and leaned back in his chair. This was going to be fun. "Admiral, I don't think you want to do this," said Francis Winters, apparantly bent on not wasting any time on pleasantries, which was just fine by Al. "Look who's dishing out the advice," he snapped back. "I don't even want to talk to you; you disgust me. I'll give you my lawyer's number. Speaking of which, how did you get ahold of mine?" he asked, even though he already had a fair idea of the answer. Winters didn't answer his question, though, denying him confirmation of another piece of the puzzle. "Admiral, I understand your point of view. Really I do. That's why I'm going to make it very worth your while to let this lie." "You're _bribing_ me?" Al said, honestly amazed. He laughed. "I don't think so. And the next time you call me without consent from my lawyer to do so, you'll find another lawsuit on you. The list just keeps growing, huh? I'm sure we haven't seen the last of each other, so watch your back." "I could say the same for you." Al hung up without responding, knowing that he'd said far too much that he shouldn't have already and that if he kept talking, he would only be making the hole deeper. He just couldn't seem to help himself, though. Verbeena's words came back to haunt him and if it were for no other reason than that, he immediately wished he could take back his last statement. "Admiral," Ziggy said, "before you go visit Dr. Beckett, I feel you should know that the man you just threatened is running for the office of US Senator next month." Al groaned and slumped forward. *Thanks, Ziggy,* he thought bitterly. *Thanks a lot.* ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- Sam was back at his computer when Al showed. "Hey, Sam," he greeted cheerfully from behind, causing Sam to jump at his keyboard. "Just once you couldn't pop in in front of me?" he demanded. Al just grinned. "You ready for the dirt on this guy you've leaped into?" "Pile it on." Al put his cigar into the corner of his mouth and smacked the handlink to activate it. "Okay, here's the scoop. First of all, there _is_ no dirt to be found. The guy's clean as a whistle. If I could use one word to describe him, it'd be 'boring'! You should fit right in." "Cute," Sam commented with a reluctant smile. "Yeah, your name is-" "Chris Walton." Sam watched the computer screen idily as the screen-saver came on and two knights engaged in swordplay. "Right. You're thirty-two years old and you live in the wonderful city of LA, where you have an extremely dull job as a would-be chemical engineer. It's May 10, 1988. Sounds like this one's gonna be an easy one, Sam. You're working a dead end job with no life...what could possibly go wrong?" "Famous last words," Sam muttered. Thrust. "Unless of course you're here to give this guy a life. That could be extremely more difficult," he continued. "He hasn't got a prayer." "Apparantly he's got somebody's. Does Ziggy know why I'm here?" "Not a clue. Yet." Parry. Sam frowned. "Have her run a check on a Jody Hawkins." "Jody Hawkins," Al repeated as he entered the name. "Who's she?" "I don't really know. I...ran into her right after I leaped in. She seemed," Sam fumbled for the right word, "sad." The knight on the left struck. First blow. "Hmmm....is she cute?" "Al...." Al was saved from further chastising when the information he requested came up. "Jody Hawkins. Twenty-nine, born in Stone Creek, NC. Two years of higher education at a community college over there. Moved to LA in, oh, at, wait...." he hit the handlink. "Thing needs at attitude readjustment," he muttered. "Okay, she moved here a little over a year ago. She's single...." Sam just glared. He continued, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Uh-oh..." "You know I hate it when you say that." Second blow, same knight. What the heck kind of screen-saver was this, anyway? "In two days, she gets laid off. She goes a little nuts and tries to rob a grocery store." Al lowered the handlink with a defeated look. "She kills two people and gets a life sentence." Third strike and the other fighter went down.