From: lalsoong@sprynet.com (Christine Wirick ) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative Subject: Paradox Delusion 01/23 Date: Sat, 22 Feb 1997 18:57:56 GMT Organization: Sprynet News Service Message-Id: <30e98636.1026025@news.monad.net> Nntp-Posting-Host: ad70-113.compuserve.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit "Paradox Delusion" A Quantum Leap Novel By Christine Wirick Chapter One: "--ren, Karen, Karen," Sam Beckett said through his host's mouth as he simultaneously finished leaping into the person. Who is Karen? he wondered. He stood in a living room with a cathedral-style ceiling that, despite its considerable size, was scarcely furnished. "Karen," he uttered again. A peculiar feeling overcame him as though somehow he knew the woman and that he'd been inside this house before. He noticed a man, darting a camcorder back and forth, standing three steps up on a stairway. Yet Sam saw only shadows on the wall. What was going on here? Was this man filming the room as evidence to something or waiting for someone to enter the room? Suddenly, an apparition of a woman manifested several feet in front of him, undulating like the tail of a kite in the wind. Sam opened his mouth wide in awe. The woman was wearing a white, summer dress and her tousled, golden hair slapped her wildly as though caught in a strong wind. Sam distinctly saw her powder blue eyes, but the remainder of her face was obscure. I've leaped into a movie director, Sam decided, thinking he was here to film a horror flick. He didn't believe in ghosts and the idea that the apparition was real didn't even cross his mind. He had dealt with the possibility of ghosts before when he helped a young woman named Troian lay her drowned husband to rest. Despite the housekeeper's uncanny resemblance to a drowned mistress of one of Troian's ancestors--also drowned--the time traveler hadn't been totally convinced that ghosts existed. Even skeptical, Sam had an eery feeling that he knew the name of the ghostly figure floating before him. "Karen?" he asked. "Help me, help me," the ghost pleaded barely above a whisper as her features twinkled in and out. "Oh boy," Sam mumbled. He felt an object strapped around his neck and glanced down to see a 70mm camera. He grasped it and quickly snapped several pictures. Slowly the mystical figure dissipated as if melting into the ceiling. "I think I got her on video, Patrick," the man on the stairway exclaimed as he turned the camcorder off. "Can you believe it? We could actually have an authentic ghost sighting on our hands!" He stepped down, approaching Sam. "Should I call the Sheffields to let them know? Or do you want to try to capture the other ghost on film first?" Beckett struggled to look away from the spot where the ghost had been, slowly turning toward the other man. The man was tall and muscular with long black hair wrapped in a ponytail. The man stared quizzically at Sam as though he were trying to figure out who Sam was. That's not possible, Sam decided, but still he wondered. Sam cleared his throat and squeaked out, "Let's call the Sheffields," hoping his host would have replied the same. . The man turned away, set the camcorder down beside the telephone on a small table beside the stairway, then picked up the telephone receiver. While the other man spoke on the telephone, Sam scanned his surroundings. He had an unshakable feeling that somehow he had leaped in at the wrong time. Not for the first time, he wished his brain didn't become so swiss-cheesed with every leap, because he sensed something vaguely familiar about this house as though he'd been inside it before. But who had he been and did that leap have anything to do with his reasons for being here now? The other man finished talking with Mr. Sheffield about the bizarre sighting, hung up and went back to Sam. "I'm Raymond Steele," he said, holding his hand out to the time traveler. "You may call me Ray." Sam shook the man's hand, feeling ridiculous in doing so. He sensed that his host knew this man, probably as a best friend. "I know this is confusing for you," Raymond continued. "It's a bit confusing for me, too." "It is?" "We didn't expect you to arrive so soon. Look, I don't want to sound presumptuous--like I'm trying to tell you how to handle this situation--but I think you'll be better off aware that I've known about your coming for weeks. Patrick told me about you as soon as he was sure." "Wait a minute. I thought I was Patrick." "Well, you are," the man said with a smile. "For a while." With that, he grabbed the camcorder and walked over to a small console with a twenty-inch television. "I better get this beast hooked up before the Sheffields arrive." He found the necessary cable on the floor and began connecting the camcorder to the set. Sam shook his head, feeling totally flummoxed. What was Raymond insinuating? Did he know that someone else was inside his friend's body? If so, why did he seem so calm with the knowledge? Although Sam leaped from host to host for altruistic reasons, most possessions were thought of as malevolent. If Raymond even suspected that Patrick was possessed, he should have been acting petrified, not serene. "Please explain exactly what and how you know about me, Ray." After hooking the other end of the cable to the television, Raymond said, "I'll tell you, but you may be skeptical or afraid of what I have to say." Taken aback, Sam's mind reeled for a moment as he tried to think of anything more frightening than knowing your best friend was possessed. "Go on," Beckett said, nodding his willingness to listen. "Patrick is a parapsychologist; a psychic." Sam chuckled, not because he didn't believe that Raymond was, at the very least, sincere about his affirmation, but because he didn't want to reveal that the very idea did indeed frighten him. He listened to Raymond's explanation without interruption. "Several months ago he had a precognition that you would be coming," Raymond continued. "He's very discreet about his ability, because he doesn't want any bad publicity that might interfere with his career as a photo journalist. I respect Patrick's privacy, so normally I would keep quiet about his abilities. I wouldn't be telling you this if he hadn't expressively given me permission to do so. I think of him as my best friend, and he often confides in me. Patrick and I first joined forces two years ago when a privately funded grant in parapsychology teamed us up. We obtain our funds through a liaison agent named George Bennett. The person or company actually funding our research maintains their anonymity that way. We both also supplement our incomes by accepting freelance assignments. A year ago, Patrick told me that he is not only interested in psychic research, but that he also practices PSI techniques regularly. He strikes me as an honest man, and I've never doubted his claim. Shortly after he confessed that to me, he offered to become my mentor. The lessons he's taught me and continues to teach me are invaluable and have profoundly changed my life. He's quite a remarkable man." "Why did he wait an entire year before telling you?" "Patrick had to be absolutely certain that he could trust me. He also needed to determine that I was completely ready to learn fully about PSI. If a person attempts any PSI activity without the proper safeguards, the repercussions could be quite volatile. That is why Patrick offered to become my guide when I accepted that I had some PSI ability. It is too dangerous to explore any psychic abilities without the aid of an expert." "That makes sense." "About a month ago, he told me that he would be going away for a while, someplace where no one would be able to find him. I didn't understand what he was talking about at first, but then he explained how you would be taking his place. We thought you'd be coming some time tonight, perhaps even tomorrow morning. But we barely had time to set up before you arrived." "Why do you suppose that is?" "I'm not sure. Patrick spent a great deal of time trying to determine when you should have arrived. He could not pinpoint the exact moment of your arrival, but was almost positive that you wouldn't show up before this evening." "He was wrong." Raymond nodded and said, "If we can figure out why, we will be better prepared to help the Sheffields and the ghosts in this house." "If your friend is a psychic, then why am I here? Isn't he more qualified to handle this situation?" "That is not entirely true. Patrick believes that it is for multiple reasons. He needs to distance himself from the assignment. There is an excellent chance that by distancing himself he will be able to see some things he otherwise wouldn't. As for you, don't discount any skills you bring in. Being psychic doesn't mean one is all powerful. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask. I'm not as psychically aware as Patrick, but he's taught me a lot of the basics." Raymond paused, allowing Sam time for any inquiry. Still adjusting to the situation, Sam could not think of anything he needed to ask. "I'll let you know if I think of anything." Steele nodded. "Good enough. I'm going to have a cup of coffee. Would you like--now isn't that a strange question for me to ask Mr. Caffeine?" He chuckled at the inside joke. "Sure," the time traveler replied anyway. As soon as the other man left, Sam began hunting for a mirror. Unable to find one, he approached the television screen, hoping it would offer him a glimpse. The reflection of a well- groomed bearded man in his late thirties peered back at him. Beckett smiled. Raymond returned with the coffee, and Sam uneasily averted his eyes from the screen. Even though this man knew he wasn't Patrick, Sam felt foolish gawking at the psychic's reflection. He accepted his coffee with a "thank you", and drank it while they waited for the Sheffields to arrive. "How long have you and Patrick been on this assignment?" Beckett asked. "Assignment?" Raymond looked shocked. "I'm surprised you didn't call this a mission or an investigation. That's what most people outside psychic vernacular would refer to this as." "I learned the term from a previous leap," Sam explained. "The man I leaped into assisted an angel on assignments given to them by God." "Really!" Raymond exclaimed. "Why, that's wonderful!" "Are you telling me that neither you nor Patrick were aware that angels return to Earth for various assignments? I thought a psychic would be aware of such a thing." "Being psychic also doesn't make us omniscient. Patrick is not privy to everything God does." "Of course not. I'm sorry I made such an assumption." He repeated his initial question, "When did you and Patrick take on this assignment?" "We just arrived this morning," Steele replied. "We spent a couple of hours talking with the Sheffields at a nearby restaurant, getting acquainted with them and discussing our game plan. Patrick and I decided that we could accomplish more quickly by remaining in this house around the clock. Fortunately, Mr. Sheffield agreed. Then we came back here and got set up." "Tell me what you know about the Sheffields, then." "Not much actually. They purchased this house three months ago, but only lived here for six weeks. Lisanne Sheffield is genuinely frightened and easily upset whenever the subject of this house is brought up. Her husband, Charles, is very protective of her--so go easy on her. Mr. Sheffield isn't the type to forgive if you cross him." "I'll keep that in mind," Sam replied, gulping down the last of his coffee and setting his cup down on the console. "Do you believe this house is haunted?" Before Raymond could reply, the door opened. The Sheffields hesitated in the doorway, afraid to enter their own home. Raymond nodded in answer to Sam's question. "Don't you?" Beckett knew how real the apparition had appeared, yet he'd heard of cleverly planned-out hoaxes before. Looking at the Sheffields he noticed that they were a handsome couple in their late twenties. "She's gone, right?" Mrs. Sheffield asked in a quavering voice. She had a slightly plump build, auburn hair, and dark brown eyes. "I hate it when she sneaks up on me. She thinks it's funny to knock things out of my hands." "It's all right, Lisanne," her husband reassured her, coaxing her inside the house. He was about a foot taller than his wife, lanky, and had thick strawberry-blond hair. "You do believe us?" Lisanne asked Sam. Her need for someone to acknowledge her sanity was palpable on her face. "Our house is haunted." "We're going to do everything we can to get to the bottom of this," Beckett replied, patting her shoulder to reassure her. He glanced at Charles Sheffield, making sure the man wasn't jealous. The man appeared tense, but perhaps more from being back inside the house than jealousy. "I think my friend over there has your ghost on tape. Would you like to see it now?" Lisanne glanced timidly at her husband, and he gently placed his arm around her. He seemed almost as reluctant as she did, but slowly nodded. Sam led them toward the video hookup. Raymond pressed "play", before stepping out of the way. The apparition appeared on the screen. "Help me, help me," came her cry. It sent shivers down Beckett's spine; the second time, though vicarious, was nonetheless chilling. Lisanne shrieked and brought her shaking hand to her forehead. "I've never actually seen her," she said. "I mean, I've always known when she was there, because I could feel her presence. But she never revealed herself in any kind of physical form to me." Sam offered the woman a look of sympathy. He'd heard many ghost stories as a child, had never believed any of them, but now was beginning to sway toward believing that this one might be authentic. He felt as uneasy as Lisanne if not more so, because he suspected he was expected to force the ghosts to relinquish their hold on the house. Al Calavicci popped into the room from several years into the future as a hologram sent to observe and aid Dr. Beckett as he encountered new problems. Al watched the ghostly image over Sam's shoulder. Raymond scanned the room, a puzzled look coming over him, and Sam wondered if he sensed Al. The ghost faded from the screen and a moment later, the picture changed to snow. Suddenly, the room grew dark, cloaked by a tenebrous presence. "Uh-oh Sam, I don't like this," Al said. "Please Charles, I want to go now," Lisanne shrieked. "They're never going to leave this house. I'm terrified of them." The lights flickered on and off as though affected by a storm, but their surroundings remained ominously quiet. Sam walked up to the console and turned off the TV and camcorder, hoping somehow that it would abate the bizarre activity. The time traveler looked up and said, "Please stop. These people haven't done anything to you." He had no basis for it, but Sam had a premonition that the ghosts were keeping an intransient hold on the house because of him, not the Sheffields. He shook the thought as he remembered through his swiss-cheesed brain that leaps could never affect his or Al's life directly--so he believed. Suddenly, a white flash of light shot from the ceiling toward Sam. Lisanne shrieked again. Gasping, Sam stepped back, nearly tripping. The light zipped past him, and darted up the stairs. Over his initial fright, the physicist climbed partway up the stairs, half-expecting the ball of light to manifest into a demon. It had disappeared. The overhead lights came back on. Slowly, glancing a couple times behind himself, Sam stepped back down. "Charles," Lisanne exclaimed in a quavering voice, "Let's go!" "Okay," Charles replied, grasping his wife gently by the arms. "Why don't you wait out in the car for me, and I'll be just a minute." "What are you going to do, Charles?" Despite her obvious fright, Lisanne stood her ground beside her husband. Her husband grasped her hands, lovingly. "Don't worry about me. Please, go out where it's safe, so I can talk with Mr. Marland in private." Lisanne hesitated and then nodded before stepping outside. Sheffield turned toward Sam and said, "I hope you understand, Mr. Marland. I can't subject my wife to this anymore. She's been through too much the past five years. She's had three miscarriages, on top of that her father recently died, and now this. We chose this house because of its secluded surroundings. I thought the large yard and the pond out back would provide my wife with an atmosphere she could grow comfortable with. I don't think we'll be returning to this house unless you can get rid of our unwelcome guests." "I do understand, Mr. Sheffield, and I will try my best." "You'll be staying in the house around the clock, then?" Sam glanced toward Al and the project observer said, "No, Sam. It would be too stressful if you don't get out of the house every once in a while." "At least one of us will be here at all times," Sam answered. "We'll need to run errands. It's also likely that we'll need to leave the house as part of our investigation." "Investigation! I just want you to get rid of the damn ghosts. I don't need a report on their lives--or deaths." "Learning about their lives could be quite crucial in convincing them to leave." "Fine then," Sheffield said tersely, dismissing the argument. "Feel free to use any of the facilities while you're here." Sheffield reached into his pants pocket and removed his wallet. Opening it, he found a piece of paper and handed it to Sam. "That's the number where we're staying. If any new developments or problems should arise, call me. Do not relay any messages through my wife, or even bother her with this mess. I don't want you upsetting her. Understood?" "Yes," Sam replied. "I understand you perfectly, Mr. Sheffield." Charles returned his billfold to his pocket, said "thank you," and left. Sam understood what Charles Sheffield wanted, but how did he go about solving the problem? "You handled that rather well," Raymond told Beckett sincerely. "Only an initiate can normally pick up on the necessity to learn about someone's past to help their future."