From: bewalton17@aol.com (BEWalton17)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative
Subject: QL: The Enemy (Chapter 18)
Date: 2 Dec 1998 05:16:37 GMT
Message-ID: <19981202001637.27332.00000956@ng-fc2.aol.com>





                        CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
     Sam got home as the sun set.  School had been out for hours,
of course, but he'd stayed late, purportedly cleaning the
classroom, but actually thinking about friends and enemies, and how
they could ever be the same thing.  His mind kept spitting up an
image with no context, a phrase with no discernable meaning: Al,
leaning over a pile of engine parts, smiling and saying, "The only
problem that ever solved me was Vietnam."  He thought the garage
might have been somewhere in the desert, but he might have been
extrapolating that from something other than the memory, so it
might not have been.
     It has to be tonight.
     Al's leave ended in the morning; he would be taking Nate back
to California with him, toward his pointless death.  Sam could
cruise through Sid Weiss' life for the next six months and not be
able to change a thing.  It was hard enough close up.  Distance
would make it impossible.
     Sam sat down on one of the colorful tables in Sid's classroom,
and closed his eyes tightly.  His mind started tossing out
alternatives, any alternatives, but they all flared out as soon as
he saw them.
     He'd finally given up and headed home.
     The Observer was waiting for him in Ruthie's studio.  "Hey,
Sam," he said, not turning away from the painting he was studying
intently.  It hadn't been there when Sam left in the morning, but
it didn't look like it had been quick work.  It was striking.
     "How did you know it was me?"
     "Well, if hadn't been you, you wouldn't have heard me anyway."
     "Okay."  Sam picked up a few stray toys as he went through the
living room.  "Where is everyone?"
     "The science museum.  Nate wanted Ruthie to come with us.  We
had a good time.  Well, Nate did, anyway.  Something was bugging
Ruthie.  I was worried about her.  But it was so great to see Nate
like that."  He bent over the painting.  "I never took a really
good look at this before."
     Sam joined him beside it.  It was a bleak montage of images,
painted in shades of grey, and backed by the ghosts of looming
tenements.  There was a dilapidated play yard in the lower left
corner, where dirty-looking children played with blank faces.  A
tiny park (painted with the slightest hint of muddy green) was
beside it; a girl wept alone beside the crooked merry-go-round. 
There was a kitchen with a yawning oven, painted in an almost black
shade, and a chain link fence that stretched upward from the bottom
of the frame to the top.  "Is this where she's from?" he asked.
     "It's where we're both from."  Al pointed to a tenement window 
in the top right corner, where a pair of blue eyes, the only bright
color in the whole dismal scene, peered out between the slats of a
venetian blind.  "I thought they were Ruthie's eyes the first time
I saw it," he said.  "That's where she lived when she was really
little, before her mother killed herself."  He gestured at the
oven, and Sam understood more than he wanted to.  "But the eyes
were too dark.  I thought it was just a mistake, only Ruthie
doesn't make mistakes like that.  I think maybe those are Nate's
eyes."
     "What would that mean?"
     "I don't know."  He shook his head.  "I've been standing here
trying to figure it out.  Ruthie told me that this painting came
out like it was trying to break out of someplace inside her.  I
thought maybe there would be something in it, something that was
trying to tell her what was going to happen."
     "A psychic flash in watercolor?"
     "Weirder things have happened.  But I don't see it here."  A
car pulled into the driveway out front.  Al took a deep breath and
turned away from the painting.  "You've got to do it tonight," he
said.  "We left in the morning."
     Sam nodded.  Whatever Al might mean by "enemy," and whatever
reservations he had morally, Nate's life was on the line, and
Ziggy's numbers were irrefutable.  "I'll say whatever you want me
to."
     "Thank you."
     "But no matter what I say, I want you to know that it's not
the truth.  You weren't responsible for your sister's death, or for
whatever happened to Ruthie."
     "Sam... "
     "I trust you with my life every day, Al.  And I don't think
that trust is misplaced."
     "I hope you're right."
     "This is going to hurt."
     "I know."
     Sam left the studio, and went through the mostly darkened
kitchen (only the ultraviolet light over Ruthie's herb garden was
on) to the entrance hall; Al drifted along beside him.
     The front door opened, and Ruthie came in, followed quickly by
Nate, and a younger Al than the one standing beside Sam.  This man
was playing "tickle-o-saurus" with his giggling son, chasing him up
the stairs as his older self looked on with wistful envy.
     Sam watched them until they disappeared around a bend at the
landing; only when he looked back down did he see that Ruthie was
still standing beside the door, her forehead pressed against the
doorframe.  She was crying.
     Sam looked at Al; Al shook his head.  "I never knew what it
was that day," he said.  "It started with the painting.  She kept
acting strange until I left with Nate.  I thought that was why."
     "Now you don't?" Sam whispered.  Ruthie didn't hear him.
     "Now, I don't know.  What I do know is that the first thing
you've got to do different from Sid is get to her before I do."
     Sam nodded.  He went over to Ruthie, and tucked a stray hair
behind her ear.  She looked up at him, her lip trembling.
     The Observer re-centered on her other side, and looked at his
ex-wife with genuine pity.  "Hold her, Sam," he said.
     Sam held her.  "What happened?"
     "He never laughs like that with me."
     "It's not a contest, Ruthie."
     "Then why do I feel like I'm losing?"
     "I don't know."
     "Hey, hey... " An arm reached through the hologram to Ruthie's
right and put a hand on her shoulder; Sam watched the disconcerting
spectacle of Al literally stepping through himself.  "What's the
matter, honey?"
     Al the Observer moved again, to a spot near the kitchen
doorway.  "Do it now," he said.
     Sam looked at him helplessly.  He thought he was prepared, but
now that the time had come, he wasn't even sure he could begin.
     "Sam... do it."
     He took a deep breath, then knocked Al's hand from Ruthie's
shoulder.  "She's not your wife," he said.  "You already blew this
one."
     "Good," the Observer said from his post.
     Al -- the real, present one -- was not as enthusiastic. 
"She's my ex-wife, and she's my friend.  Sorry if you feel like I'm
stepping on your toes when I try to comfort her."  He started to
put his hand back on her shoulder, but Sam grabbed his wrist and
pushed him away from her.
     "What are you doing, Sid?" Ruthie demanded, wiping her eyes.
     "Something he should've done in the first place," the Observer
snorted.  Sam was struggling for some way to keep going; he'd never
tried to turn a conversation in a hurtful direction before.  Al
said:  "By the way, I wouldn't count on much backup from Ruthie. 
Sometimes she forgot the ex- part."
     And Sam knew.  He turned Ruthie to face him.  "Why'd you
divorce him?" he said.
     "What?"
     "You heard me."
     Her mouth gaped open.  "I... I told you when we met... "
     Sam wasn't positive that she'd told Sid anything, let alone
the truth.  "Tell me again," he said.
     "What did you tell him, Ruthie?" Al asked from her other side. 
Sam was not surprised to hear in his tone that he was almost as
curious as he was angry.
     "Not much," she said, bewildered.
     Sam risked a glance at the Observer, who gave him an
encouraging nod.  "The booze," he said.  "Start with that."
     Sam looked back at Ruthie, trying not to acknowledge the man
behind her, even though that man was his real audience.  "How many
nights a week did he come home drunk?  And how many more did he not
come home at all because he was out with some bimbo he met at a
party?"
     "That's all over," Al assured her.
     "Sure it is," the Observer sneered.
     "Oh, come on, Al," Sam went on.  "Did *any* of your wives buy
that?"
     "Look, Weiss -- "
     "I bet it wasn't ever true, either."
     "Good bet," he heard behind him.
     "Not even with the first."
     Al pulled away as if he had actually been struck.  "You don't
know anything about my first wife."
     Sam winced.  "I know if you had it in you to keep a family
together there wouldn't have been a second or a third or a fourth." 
He heard the Observer gasp sharply, but there was nothing to be
done at the moment.  Sam wouldn't realize until much later that Al
had never given him that exact piece of ammunition; it had just
been waiting in his personal arsenal.
     Al raised his arm to throw a punch, but Ruthie blocked it with
her hand.  She turned on Sam, every inch the protective mother-
figure.  "What in the hell do you think you're doing, Sid?"
     "Do you really think all that's going to change when you send
your five-year-old to live with him?"
     "Bad move," the Observer said, and was proven right
immediately.
     The younger Al turned Ruthie around, and said:  "I said I'd
take care of Nate, and I'll do it.  You know that."
     "Yes," Ruthie agreed.  "I do."
     The older Al shook his head.  "I *wasn't* at a party when Nate
died.  I was working."  He looked at Ruthie, who was now edging
defensively back toward her ex-husband.  His eyes narrowed.  "Ask
her if she trusts me, Sam."
     Sam didn't really understand where he was going, but he
acquiesced.  "Do you trust him, Ruthie?"
     "With my life."
     "Big mistake on her part," the hologram said.  Sam shook his
head as slightly as he could.  Al didn't bother to argue.  "Just
make Ruthie believe it," he said.
     Sam nodded.  "He promised he'd take care of you, didn't he?"
     "Well, yes... "
     "Ask about her foster father, Sam."
     Sam looked down into Ruthie's beautiful face, and wondered if
he had the strength to hurt her as well.  He thought about Nate,
and steeled himself.  "Then where was he when your foster father
found out about the two of you?  Do you remember what happened
then?"
     Ruthie stepped back, shocked.  "That wasn't Albert's fault."
     "I didn't know," Al said, and Sam could see a kind of panic
starting in his eyes.  "How was I supposed to know?"
     Ruthie reached back squeezed his hand, a distracted gesture of
comfort.  "You couldn't have done anything even if you did know."
     Sam looked miserably at the Observer.  "I wonder if that's
what your kid sister was thinking when she died."
     In another world, Sam saw two women appear at his friend's
side.  One of them was Tina; she gave Sam a poison look as soon as
she took Al's hand.  The other was Verbeena Beeks.  She smiled
sympathetically at Sam, and reached for Al's wrist to take his
pulse.  "I'm okay," the Observer grumbled.
     Verbeena shook her head and said something.  The sound
mechanism that Al had rigged up to bring Visitors into the Imaging
Chamber had apparently been dismantled.  A moment later, the
Chamber Door opened, and the women led him out.   
     In Chicago, 1984, the other Al stood dumbstruck.  Ruthie
touched his face.  "Are you okay?"
     He nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I'm okay.  But keep this guy
out of my sight."
     Ruthie turned a hateful face to Sam.  "Get away from me, Sid."
     "Ruthie -- "
     "I don't want to talk to you right now, and I don't want to
see your face."  Sam stayed still until her expression softened
somewhat.  "Please, Sid," she said.  "I don't know why you did
this, but you can't be here right now."
     Sam nodded, without saying any more.  Out of the corner of his
eye, he saw Al walking slowly up the stairs.  Ruthie looked torn
for a moment before she followed him.
     Sam turned and found himself face to face with Sid Weiss'
image, staring hollowly back from a mirror beside the door.
     What have I done? he thought.  What in the name of God have I
done?
     Unable to abide the accusations of the now-silent hall, he
grabbed a coat from the pegs on the wall and went outside into the
cold November night.
     The wind howled around him like a banshee, driving the night
mist into his skin like hail.  He looked up at Ruthie's house, and
saw Al through a lighted upstairs window.  The other man was
sitting at a desk in the guest room, one hand over his face, the
other clenched into a fist.
     Sam glared into the moody sky.  "You owe him!" he cried to
Whomever was listening.  "Do you understand me?  You *owe* him!"
                               ***
     Nate knows this place well.  He has dreamed about it a lot.
     He and Pop are in a forest someplace, running toward a castle. 
There is a big monster behind them -- a dragon, or maybe an ring
wraith like the ones in the stories Mama tells -- and it will catch
them before they can get there.  It always does.
     They reach the road, and Pop stops.  He puts a hand on Nate's
shoulder to make him stop, too.  Nate can see the castle at the end
of the road, at the top of hill.  He takes Pop's hand, and starts
to run toward it.
     The monster roars.
     Pop tries to turn to fight it, but Nate makes him keep on
going.  He knows that if they don't get to the castle, the monster
will eat them both, no matter how much they fight.  Nate does this
every time the dream comes, and sometimes he almost makes it.
     The ground shakes, and the wind blows as the monster's wing
flaps beside them.  It is close behind.
     Pop pushes Nate ahead of him.  "You've gotta get inside,
_paison_," he says.
     Nate trips on a branch and falls down.  Pop grabs him by the
collar of his shirt and pulls him up.  They are right outside the
castle now, just across the moat.  Nate starts to run out onto the
bridge.
     The monster's giant foot comes down in front of him, and the
bridge falls into the moat in splintery pieces, like the bridge in
the movie he saw with Pop in California.  He lands on the edge of
the moat wall, which is suddenly very high up, and there are
crocodiles in the water.  Nate starts trying to climb up the slats.
     He reaches the top, and sees Pop fighting with the monster
with a sword (which changes to a laser gun when he needs it to).
     "Pop!"
     Pop turns to look at him, and the monster knocks him to the
ground.  "I told you to get inside," he says sternly when he gets
up.
     "But the bridge -- "
     "Can't you see they're closing the door?"
     Nate looks across the moat, and sees that the stone door is
sliding shut, like it always does.
     "You've gotta get across!"
     "But Pop -- "
     Sid appears in the door.  This is new, and for a minute, Nate
doesn't pay attention to him.  He is standing beneath the door,
waving his arms, and yelling at Pop to jump or something.  Sid
throws a rope across, and it magically floats at the edge of the
moat, waiting to be caught.  Pop gathers Nate in his arms, and
reaches for it.
     The monster bats the rope away, and it falls.  Pop looks
across at Sid, then at the monster.  He lifts Nate high above his
head, and, before Nate knows what is happening, throws him into the
gorge.
     Nate screams.  He can see Pop at the top, watching him fall. 
His sword dangles uselessly from one hand, and his mouth is a
surprised circle.  Nate reaches for him, but he's falling faster
and faster.
     There is a wind in the gorge suddenly, and it picks him up and
carries him to the door, which is almost shut.  Sid pulls him
through.  He sees Pop turn away just before the stone reaches the
bottom of the door.
     The he is folded into something soft and smooth, and
     Mama whispered into his hair, "It's all right, honey.  You're
just having a dream."
     Nate opened his eyes slowly.  He was in his room again, with
all his toys and stuff.  The light was out, and the moon and the
hall light made shadows on the wall, but it was still his room.  No
monster, and no moat.  "Where's Pop?"
     "Pop's in his room, honey.  Do you want me to get him?"
     Nate shook his head.  It was Mama he wanted right now, as long
as Pop wasn't getting eaten up by a dragon.
     "Are you sure?  You're shaking like a leaf."  Mama cuddled him
tighter.  "Do you want to tell me your dream?"
     "No."  Nate couldn't tell her why the dream had been so scary
tonight.  It wasn't really the monster.  It was something even
worse, but he didn't know how to say it.
     "What can we do to make you feel better?"
     Nate shrugged.  He already felt better; the dream was fading
away.
     "Honey," Mama said, kissing his head.  "Did you hear...
anything... from downstairs earlier?"
     "Uh-uh.  How come?"
     "No reason.  I just wanted to know."
     "Okay."
     "Do you want me to turn on the light, sweetheart?"
     "Yes."
     Mama stood up to go across the room turn it off, and suddenly
it was cold.  Nate felt a breeze, and he remembered being dragged
along on the wind, toward the closing door.  He pulled his covers
tight.  Mama turned on the light, and came back over.  She was
wearing a dark blue nightgown with white lace at the top, and a
bathrobe that billowed behind her when she walked.  She looked like
a queen, and Nate wished she had a crown.
     She sat down beside him again.  "Are you going to be okay with
the light on?"
     Nate shook his head, and curled up against her.  "Can you stay
here?"
     "If you want me to.  You can come in and stay with me, if you
want."
     Nate thought about it, then nodded and held out his arms. 
Mama picked him up, and he put his head on her shoulder.  He almost
put his thumb in his mouth, but he remembered that he was too big
for that now.  He was asleep before they got to Mama's room, and he
didn't dream any more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Barbara