From: lalsoong@sprynet.com (Christine Wirick )
Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative
Subject: Paradox Delusion  17/23
Date: Sat, 22 Feb 1997 18:59:58 GMT
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                              Chapter Seventeen:

     Meg and Sam waited until Raymond had backed out of the driveway
before walking around the side of the house to the back yard.  They
glanced at one another several times along the way, expressing their
worries without words.  Neither of them spoke until they reached the
pond.

     "This place is so beautiful, nothing like the stereotypical
haunted house," Sam said.  "That appellation is suppose to be reserved
for two hundred-year old decrepit mansions.  It hardly looks like a
site where evil spirits would choose to lurk."

     "We both know that we can't base reality on stories we heard over
campfires as children."

     "I guess the moment of confrontation is imminently upon us.  You,
Raymond, and Patrick have taught me so much during the past few days.
So why am I still so afraid of facing what lies inside that house?"

     "Because it is human nature to fear evil," Meg replied.  "I am
every bit as frightened as you are!"

     "But we have to face it," Sam conceded.  "With God by our side
and our combined psychic energy-- including that coming from my past
leap hosts--we have a fighting chance."

     "That's good, Sam.  If we continue to think like that, we'll
combat these evil spirits with a force to be reckoned with."

     "What do you suppose will be their next attack strategy?"

     "I wish I had a definitive answer to that, Sam.  We can base our
guess on what you know about Zoey, but then we still haven't
determined whether she's the driving force behind all this."

     "Why does there seem to be more questions surrounding this case
than answers?"

     A car door slammed shut, interrupting their conversation.

     "That can't be Raymond back already," Sam said as he rushed
toward the front yard.  Meg followed close behind him.  They found a
1987 yellow Mustang parked in the driveway.  "That's Charles
Sheffield's car," Sam realized.  "I hope he isn't too angry to find no
one inside the house."

     Meg cast him with a doubtful look.  "We are talking about
Mr. Wonderful," she said.  "It takes very little to rouse his temper."

     "You're right."  He shook his head, wondering when this leap was
going to get any easier.  It wasn't, he realized.  And they needed to
act quickly.  "With Sheffield in the house, we can't wait for Raymond
to return before we go back into the house.  No matter how unlikable a
guy Charles Sheffield is, we can't let him fall prey to any evil
spirits."

     Conceding with a nod, Meg followed Sam to the front door.  Meg
turned the handle, but it would not budge.  "It's locked!" she
exclaimed.

     "Let me try it," Sam said, fishing the key out of his pants
pocket.  The key did not even turn in the lock!  "I don't believe
Sheffield is the one who locked us out."

     At the same time, they both peered through the window pane in the
door and both gasped at the sight that greeted them.  Many objects had
been tossed haphazardly throughout the room.

     Sheffield was standing in the center of the living room, his
hands on his hips and muttering to himself.  For a moment, Sam
entertained the notion that Sheffield, in a fit of anger, had
devastated the room.  Yet, he knew Sheffield could not possibly have
been here long enough, and besides, Raymond had already told them that
the house had become increasingly active.

     They continued to watch as Sheffield sat down on the bottom step
and tilted his head sideways as though he was looking at someone.  But
who?  Neither Sam nor Meg could see anyone.  Sheffield began to talk
to this unseen entity.


     "Who--?" Sheffield stammered.

     "Allow me to introduce myself," a woman said.  She was leaning
against the railing two feet above him, with her feet in the air!  "My
name is Zoey.  I've come to ask you a favor," she said with a cool
smile.

     "What makes you think I would do anything for you?"

     Oddly, he did not even think to ask her how or why she was in his
house.  Her icy brown eyes bore into him, somehow giving him the
sensation of a fire burning at his core, and he could think of
nothing.  He knew he wouldn't-- probably even couldn't--refuse this
woman anything.

     "There's a certain physicist in our midst," she continued,
ignoring his question.  "He's eluded me before, but not this time.
You don't know him, because he's disguised himself as someone else, a
psychic named Patrick Marland."

     "Patrick Marland--the man I have working in my house!"

     "Yes and what's worse, they're in collusion together."  Zoey
laughed internally.  Until this mission, Patrick had not known Zoey's
true identity.  She had seen fit that he didn't.  And at first, she
had been outraged that he now knew her name, but quickly she began
planning strategies on how to turn his to her advantage.  For years
now, she had been monitoring Patrick's activities.  She hated his
good-deed nature every bit as much as Sam Beckett. How delicious this
revenge would be if she could get them both with a single blow!  "They
don't care about helping you.  If you let them, they may even convince
your wife to leave you."

     "She's already found a job!"

     "See, then I am right.  The are working against you.  So what are
you going to do about it?"

      Sheffield clenched his fists tightly.  Though he did not provide
a verbal answer, Zoey smiled like the proverbial cat that had
swallowed the canary.

     "You help me, and I'll see that your wife returns to your open
arms."

     He looked back up at her with wondering, childlike eyes.  She
knew she had him.  She knew his allegiance was rapidly leaning toward
her.  She would act as his savior, make him believe she would take
care of him.  He would become her willing pawn, bending to her every
wish.  But in the end, he would bend just a little too far.


     "It's some type of vapor lock," Meg said as she examined the
door.  "Someone or something in there with Sheffield does not want us
to interfere."

     Just as Meg voiced that conclusion, the door handle turned on its
own and the door popped open.  she looked surprisingly at Sam before
pushing the door further open and stepping into the living room.  Sam
quickly followed behind her.

     Charles Sheffield was now standing again, but still glancing
upward at the railing.  Having heard them step inside he turned to
notice them, he yelled, "Where the hell have you been?  I'm paying you
good money to keep a constant watch on this house, not to run off on
some pleasure trip."

     Beckett studied the room, almost expecting to see demons hovering
near the ceiling ready to pounce on them.  Although he did not see
anything unusual, his fear that Ben was being demonically influenced
did not go away.  There were demons in the room and Charles Sheffield
had spoken to one of them.  Meg appeared to be also looking for
demons, but answered Sheffield as she bravely stepped toward him.

     "There was a potential risk of PSI overload," she explained.  "We
agreed that it was necessary that we all step outside for a few
minutes.  I assure you that we have no intention of abandoning this
house or of not extricating the ghosts haunting it.  But please
understand, if any of us suffer harmful side effects from negative PSI
energy, we would become incapable of tackling yours and Ben and Karen
Simms' problem."

     "What if I don't believe you?" Sheffield challenged and then he
glanced over his shoulder as though listening to someone that Meg and
Sam still could not see or hear.  Beckett noticed the man nod ever so
slightly.

     "Raymond told us that the evil spirits were reeking havoc.  Look
around."  Sam waved his arm to indicate the entire room.  "Items have
been scattered all over the place.  I'm sure that it is still
dangerous for us to be here now."

     "Oh really?" Sheffield asked and Sam swore he could see a smirk
on the man's face.  "The only danger I see here is the two of you!  I
told you to leave my wife alone.  Now because of your meddling, little
lady--" he pointed an accusatory finger at Meg.  "--Lisanne has more
interest in her precious plants than she does in me."

     "I'm glad she finally wised up," Meg quipped.

     Sam opened his mouth in awe.  He felt a growing contempt for
Sheffield as well, but he wasn't sure that openly admitting it was
wise.  He wouldn't have expected Meg to respond so impulsively.

     "Look, you bitch!"  Forcefully, Sheffield grabbed Meg by the
hair.  "Now what are you going to do?" he challenged Beckett.  "How
are your psychic powers going to get you out of this situation?
Oh. . .but you're not really the psychic, are you?"

     "Wh--what would make you think that?"  Sam felt his heart racing.
Zoey was here.  He was more sure of it than before.  How much had she
told Charles Sheffield?  More importantly, how much of it was the
truth?

     "You're that physicist. . .the leaper. . . Sam Beckett."
Sheffield paused in between words as though he were being fed the
information.  "You are hear to see that Lisanne leaves me!"

     "Now hold on a minute.  Whoever is telling you that, is lying to
you."

     "Oh, how do I know you're not the liar?  You're the one who came
here, to my home, telling me you were Patrick Marland, a psychic.
Lies.  I know that know!"  Sheffield reached into his pocket and
pulled out a switchblade.  Clicking it open, he pressed the blade
against Meg's throat.  She started to shriek, but quickly suppressed
it.  "Tell me why you're really here, or the babe gets it."
  

     "Zoey!" Sam yelled, even though he was quite sure she could hear
him if he whispered.  "Why are you letting Charles Sheffield, a mere
mortal, do your dirty work?  Why don't you show your face?  We should
have this out between the two of us.  We don't need to involve other
people."

     "Wrong answer, Beckett!" Sheffield said with a nervous laugh.  He
removed the blade from Meg's throat to point it at Sam.

     Sam was very frightened and he didn't know whether he was an
equal for Sheffield even without the switchblade present, but he saw
an opportunity to save Meg and so he bravely charged at Sheffield.  He
grabbed the other man by the arm, trying to wrestle the weapon out of
his hand.  Meg managed to escape Sheffield's grasp as the two men
engaged in a struggle for the switchblade.  The switchblade slashed
across Sam's arm just before he tore it away from Sheffield's grasp
and it went clattering across the floor.  Meg shrieked as she saw the
blood pouring from the wound in Beckett's arm.  He pressed his other
hand to staunch the flow, but Sheffield plowed on top of him and began
pummeling his head against the hard floor.

     Al popped in, having been alerted of the danger by Patrick,
waving his arms as he yelled, "Sam, you're Jimmy and you've just been
released from the hospital.  You're going to work with your big
brother, Frank.  You're so proud. . . You're the Great Spontini and
you're rushing to save your daughter.  She's attempting a
death-defying trick, but she's not going to succeed.  You have to get
to her fast before she dies.  Sam, Sam, fight back!"

     Sam focused on his friend through the corner of his eye.  His
vision grew fuzzy and he blinked several times to clear it with little
success.  Although he thought of the leap hosts as Al mentioned them,
he could not find the strength to pull free of Sheffield.  Sam felt
life quickly draining from him and he struggled to hold on to
consciousness.

     "Ah, you're Ortega and you're being strapped to the electric
chair.  You're guilty, or rather, Ortega's guilty, but you know
another man's innocent.  You can't let him die, Sam.  Sam, you can't
let Patrick die!"

     Al paced frantically back and forth, his mind racing, trying to
come up with a solution.

     "Ben, you listen to me," he yelled, the cords in his neck
tightening.  "Can you hear me?"  He prayed ghosts fell in the same
category as young children and animals.  "You may think that no one
understands you, but you're wrong!  I understand you.  I was a soldier
in the war, too.  I spent five years trapped in a pit in Vietnam.  I
know what you went through.  I know what it's like to come home and
discover that your wife has fallen in love with another man.  But in
your case, your wife waited for you.  Oh God, please believe me!"

     Hearing Al's words through a vacuum, Sam suddenly was swept away
by a vision.  He nearly passed out from the shock of it.  Staring at
Sheffield's face, he saw Al's face--or rather the face of the
Boogyman, the Dark Angel.  Satan himself.

     Our Father who art in Heaven, came a voice that Sam could not
immediately place.  Hollowed be thy name.  . .  As Sam recognized the
voice as that of Father Tony's, the connection between himself and the
priest faded.  He tried to psychically call out to the father, but he
was too weak.

     Sheffield lifted his right arm and mustering up his full
strength, slammed his fist into Beckett's eyes, one after the other.
The pain was incredible and blood ran down Sam's face as he suspected
his nose may have been broken from one of the blows.  Sheffield
continued to pummel his face and Sam quickly became blinded by the
bruises.  No longer able to think clearly, Sam lost all hope of
overpowering Charles Sheffield.

     Visions suddenly flashed before Sam of cannibals carving a man
for their feast.  He could hear Al calling out to him, pleading him to
concentrate on past leaps and to find the strength to overpower
Sheffield.  But he could not even answer his friend.  Fighting the
rising fear, Sam struggled to block out the images.  He knew the
demons were forcing them on to him.  If only he could convince
Sheffield to turn away from their evil influence...

       Patrick's words of advice flashed through him like a recording
and Sam concentrated on remembering his past leaps.  He thought about
the time he had to photograph a lion at close range and the pretty
models, pretending to catch birds as they fluttered throughout the
studio.

     "Fight, Sam," he heard inside his head.  He had neither the
energy nor the concentration left to heed those words.  He was Dr. Sam
Beckett.  He was a time traveler.  And he was about to die.  Even
without a swiss-cheese memory, at that moment he would not be capable
of remembering anymore.

     I'm going to die, he thought, or rather screamed inside his
befuddled mind.

     He could hear Meg screaming and through his now blurry vision, he
realized she was running toward the telephone.  "Oh my God!  The
phone's not working!" she exclaimed.  A moment later, Sam lost
consciousness.

     "Uh-oh, that's not good!" Al exclaimed as Meg returned the phone
receiver to its cradle, and noticed the loose wire.  Why had Sheffield
disconnected the phone?  Unless he had come here for premeditated
murder!  But why?  Was he really that angry over his wife working at a
flower shop?

     "No!" Meg yelled as she suddenly realized what was happening.
"Ben, if you can hear me, it's within your power to make them stop!"

     "Good idea!" Al said, joining her plea for help.  Although she
couldn't hear him, maybe Ben Simms could.

     How could she be sure to get Ben's attention?  The Beatles!  She
ran over to the stereo."

     "Oh, you're going to play the cd Sam bought," Al realized aloud.
"That's the ticket!"

     A classical rendition blared out at them.  Raymond must have been
listening to it while they were gone.  Glancing back at Sheffield and
the time traveler, she saw Sheffield grab Sam by the shirt collar and
begin dragging the time traveler across the floor toward the stairway.
A trail of blood followed them.


     "Hurry!  Hurry!"  Al waved his arms wildly, cigar in one hand and
handlink in the other.  He's going to kill Sam if you don't get Ben's
attention quickly!"

     She fumbled with the player to remove the compact disk.  Hunting
for the Beatles cd, she cursed under her breath.  Where had Raymond
set it?  First, she checked on and around the stereo, but there were
no cds left setting out.  Realizing how meticulous Raymond was, she
opened up the drawer underneath the stereo system and discovered two
rows of compact disks.  They were in alphabetical order!  She grabbed
the Beatles and removed it from its case.  After placing it in the
player, she advanced it to "All You Need is Love" and pressed play.
She had a feeling that a song about love and sung by John Lennon would
have the most chance of drawing Ben out.

     One glance up at Sheffield who was dragging a sheet out of the
bedroom to tie around Sam's neck, reaffirmed her belief in the urgency
of the situation.  "Come on, Ben!  Stop them!"

     "Oh God!" Al exclaimed.  "Meg, you keep calling for Ben.  I'm
going to find Raymond and see if I can attract his sixth sense and get
him to come back here.  Gooshi, center me on Raymond, now!"  The
project observer popped out.

     Meg watched in horror as Charles Sheffield tied one end of the
sheet around the still-unconscious time traveler's neck and the other
end to the railing and then released his grip on Sam.  The time
traveler began swinging from the railing.

     *         *         *
     

     Raymond had begun to almost instantly feel better as he drove
away from the house.  A light rain had started and he found the
mundane swishing of the wipers comforting.  For several minutes, he
drove with a sense of euphoria that he had not experienced in a long
time.  This case had been taking more of a psychic toll on him than he
had realized.

     Popping into the back seat, Al said, "Raymond, can you hear me?
Well, I don't know if you can hear me or not, but maybe you can feel
me.  It's urgent!  You have to get back to the house now!  Or Sam is
going to die!"

     Raymond reached a four-way stop and suddenly an image of a man
hanging from a rope flashed before him.  He could not make out the
man's face, but somehow he knew who it was.

     Making a U-turn in the intersection, he received angry honks from
the other two drivers at the stop signs.  He pushed the accelerator up
to twenty miles over the speed limit.  He had to get back now!

     Punching his handlink, Al popped out and zoomed back on Sam.


     When Al popped back into the Sheffield living room, Charles
Sheffield was walking down the stairs.  Actually growling at Meg, he
said, "Now it is your turn, little lady."

     She screamed and hunted wildly around the room for anything she
could use as a weapon.

     "Throw liquor bottles at him if you have to," Al yelled.  "Conk
the bastard over the head!"

     Al was beginning to feel a bit uncanny about all this PSI
business, because at that moment, Meg opened up the liquor cabinet and
pulled out a full bottle of brandy.  Raising the bottle, she smashed
it across Sheffield's forehead as he came charging toward her.  For a
moment, he stared at her with shock until succumbing to the blow.

     Whimpering and shaking, Meg dropped the bottle handle beside
Sheffield's unconscious body.  She jumped over him and rushed up the
stairs.  As she reached Sam, she desperately tried to loosen the sheet
around his neck, but instantly she realized two things: She didn't
have the strength to loosen the knot, and even if she did, Sam would
plunge to the living room, which could also kill him.

     "Try to hold him up!" Al exclaimed, rising so he was standing in
the air beside them.  Meg was already trying desperately to pull Sam
up with no luck.  "Oh, you're not strong enough."  Not for the first
time, he wished he wasn't a hologram to Sam Beckett. "If only Raymond
would hurry up and get here!"

     As he said that, another figure came floating across the ceiling
toward them.  It was Ben he realized almost immediately.  Al resisted
the urge to tell the ghost he was a little late in answering them.
Still trying to save Sam, Meg didn't seem to notice Ben's
arrival--until he spoke.

     "Is he. . . .dead?" the ghost asked.

     "He soon will be!" Meg screamed, the blood rushing to her face.

     Raymond rushed into the room, a look of shock clearly on his face
even before he'd had the chance to ocularly assess the danger.

     "Raymond, hurry!  He doesn't have much time left!"  He punched
buttons on the handlink, desperate for any information Ziggy had on
both Sam and Patrick's conditions.  They were still alive, but fading
quickly.

     In several long strides, Raymond made his way across the room and
up the stairs to help Meg pull Sam up to the landing.  He struggled
with the knot in the sheet, but after several seconds finally managed
to loosen it from around Sam's neck.

     As Raymond was doing this, Al continued to consult with Ziggy and
to his relief saw that Sam's chances of surviving were gradually
increasing, now up to sixty-two percent.  He decided to compare that
to Patrick's odds of surviving and learned that while Sam's chances
continued to rise, Patrick's hovered close to fifty percent.  Was Sam
preparing to leap? Al wondered.

     "Call for help!" he yelled at Meg and then bent to perform CPR on
his friend.

     "I can't--Sheffield disconnected the phone."  She shrieked and
began shaking uncontrollably, turning deathly pale.

     "Think straight, Meg--for Sam and Patrick's sakes.  There's
another phone in Sam's room."

     Suddenly coming back to life with hope, Meg darted into Sam's
room and when she picked up the receiver, was relieved to hear a dial
tone.  Quickly, she punched in 9-1-1.  She barely managed to stay calm
enough to inform the dispatcher on the other end of the emergency.

     Raymond continued to perform CPR and although Patrick began to
breathe shallowly, he did not regain consciousness.  The dispatcher
kept Meg on the line until the paramedics arrived.  Raymond stepped
aside so the two paramedics could work on stabilizing Patrick's
condition, but still hovered close enough to watch tensely.  Silently,
he prayed that his friend would not be taken from him.

     "Ben," Raymond said, "I won't begin to claim that I understand
all the pain you feel.

     "But I do understand," Al inputed with a wave of his cigar.

     " However, I do believe that while you were held captive in that
pit that you believed you were going to die."

     "I thought I was going to die over there, too," Al chimed in,
"But thoughts of my wife kept me going.

     " So strong was your conviction that even when you were rescued
and sent home, you probably felt like you were dead, like life had
nothing left to offer you."

     "My wife was no longer waiting for me when I got home.  She had
thought I was dead, so she fell in love with someone else and
remarried.  You have to understand how difficult it is to wait years,
not knowing if your husband is alive or dead and still having to
continue to live yourself.  Your Karen waited for you.  She stayed
faithful to you, and was still waiting for you when you returned.  You
have to believe me.  Karen did not cheat on you."

     "John is dead," Ben said.

     "What?" Raymond exclaimed.  "I don't understand."

     On the stereo, "The Ballad of John and Yoko" began playing.

     "He's talking about one of the Beatles!" Meg exclaimed.

     Ben, his image almost fading, looked toward the speaker.  "John
is dead," he repeated.

     "Yes, John Lennon is dead," Raymond acknowledged, "but he didn't
die in a war--he died--" Raymond paused as an idea quickly came to
him.  "--but he died a senseless death.  He died a senseless death,
too, just like all the war victims.  You were a war victim.  You may
have returned home physically in one piece, but the war still stole a
part of you--a vital part of you."

     "Yes, the war," Ben said in an agonizing tone.  "So much blood
and gore, people ripped apart--some of them children!"

     "It was awful," Al agreed with emphasis.

     "All of us here feel hurt and anger over what happened to those
people over there, soldiers, women, and children," Raymond said.  "But
we can't change our history.  We must move on."

     "I tried to move on...I wanted to move on..." Ben looked away.

     "I know how difficult it is to move on," Al told the ghost.  "I
was there, too.  I lived through that war.  I came home after that war
to a country filled with people who did not understand the war.
Nobody understood the war.  Moving on is difficult, I know, but I did
it.  And you can, too, Ben."

     "If you move on, you can find peace,"Raymond said.  "God is
willing to forgive you and accept you into his kingdom."

     "I don't know if that is true.  You must forgive me for a few
moments.  I must go."

     "Wait!" Raymond exclaimed, but before he even had the word out,
Ben had vanished.

     They continued desperately to try to help Patrick until the
paramedics arrived to take over.


     Suddenly an apparition appeared above them and hurled toward the
floor, taking on human form, Karen Simms.  She was followed by her
husband.

     "Ben, Karen!" Al exclaimed.  He learned directly at Karen.
"Thank you for convincing him to return."  He feared that Sam could
not leap until the problem between the Simms was fully resolved.

     "What the hell?!" one of the paramedics said as he glanced up.
He was too professional to pause in administering aid to Patrick,
though.

     "Ben," Meg said approaching him, "you have to see how wrong all
of this is."  She pointed first to Patrick and then to Sheffield.
"These spirits who have been telling you that Karen was unfaithful to
you have been lying to you.  They thrive on bad circumstances.  They
love corrupting good people."

     "They're pure evil," Al added.  "They saw a weakness in you and
they took advantage of you."

     Zoey's head manifested above Ben.  "Are you going to listen to
them, darling, when I can give you everything you want?"

     "What can you give me?  What have you given me?" Ben challenged.
"I think you've only taken from me, and I didn't see it until now."

     "Please!  They're the ones who have taken from you.  Sam Beckett
leaped into Andrew Montgomery and fell in love with your wife."

     "No, she is lying to you, Ben!" Karen pleaded.  "Sam Beckett is a
kind and decent man.  He did leap into Andrew, but not to get me to
fall in love with him, or with Andrew.  He leaped in to help uncover a
conspiracy against my father.  I won't lie to you and tell you that I
never had feelings for Andrew, but the important thing is that I never
carried through on them.  Never!  I love you, Ben.  I always have.  I
always will.  I was worried that you might be dead when Andrew came
into my life, and he offered me comfort and friendship."

     Ben studied the devastation in the room for a long moment.
Everyone watched him tensely, Karen knotting her hands in her dress,
Al chewing on his cigar, and Zoey scowling with impatience.

     "Oh Karen," he said, a deep sadness in his voice.  he reached out
to her, and she raised her hands to clutch his.  "Why didn't I believe
you?"

     Zoey harrumphed and pressed buttons wildly on the handlink, her
connection to her artificial intelligence unit.  "Maybe you've won in
this matter," she snapped, "but Patrick Marland is still in a dire
situation."  With that, she pushed a button on her handlink forcefully
and disappeared inside her imaging chamber.