From: AKulsum@aol.com Date: Tue, 22 Oct 1996 03:10:51 -0400 Message-ID: <961022031047_338644355@emout20.mail.aol.com> Subject: road 1/9 "The Road Taken" pt. I "Because _what_?!" he screamed. Sam recoiled automatically, ringing ears adding to his initial disorientation. The man advanced relentlessly, grabbing Sam by his arms and shaking him violently. "I never hit you, okay? Never! How could you lie to them? You were the one who got high, not me. Did you tell them _that_? Huh, did you?" Sam shrank against the wall. "Oh....boy." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- Al was enjoying some recreation time when Ziggy called him. Not only had Sam leaped, but they had already located him and run a full bio on the leapee. The smooth direction this leap was already taking went some distance towards easing Al's annoyance at being disturbed during "recreation". Now he entered the Control Room with a deep green ensemble, matching his mood. "Fire her up, Gooshie." Gooshie tossed him a mock salute and within moments he was being centered on Sam. Sam was sitting on a chair in a long, stark hallway, a stack or papers resting on his lap. He looked slightly shaken. "Hiya Sam," Al said, attempting to maintain that good feeling he had. "Nice skirt. What's up?" "Well, Al, I'm signing final papers for a divorce, if you must know," Sam said tightly. Al sighed. This wasn't going to be a good leap, after all. "Well, Ziggy's on top of things for once and we've got your bio, so why don't you put you're John Hancock down on those and we can go someplace to talk." "Because I don't know my name yet," Sam retorted pointedly. "Besides, no-one's around....what's wrong with here?" Sam quieried, shifting uneasily as he tried to pull his skirt further past his knees. "Well, Sam, you never know when someone is right around the corner. Maybe we should go somewhere else, just to be on the safe side. Say....the ladies room?" "Al....." "Okay, okay," Al frowned, "spoilsport. Your name is Katrina Rimsky." "Nice Russian name," Sam commented. "Yeah....." Al agreed slowly. "You're from Russia, forty-two years old....it's Monday, September 10, 1953. Married and...divorced once already; this is her second time around the block." Al grumbled to himself. "Wonder why she dumped _this_ guy." "Yeah, well, I think he beat her," Sam said quietly, attracting Al's attention. "And from what he says, she wasn't all together herself." Al snorted. "Well, it's her own fault. That's what she gets for being so messed up." "Al!" Sam started in surprise. He had never heard his friend so unsympathetic. He had had his own low points in his life that had made him a valuable councillor for Sam on many occasions and he was shocked to hear such a lack of kindness on his friend's part. The look in Al's eyes told him not to pursue the subject and he dropped it with no small degree of reluctance. "So if Ziggy's so on top of everything, does she know what I'm here to do?" "Mmmmm...." Al lit a cigar before using his usual methods of persuasion to gain information from the handlink. "Apparantly you...Katrina...get killed in one week. Mugging, the police report says." "Mugging? Al, if that's not for a week, why am I here now?" Sam shook his head. "No, that can't be right. Well, at least, it's got to be more than that. Have Ziggy keep looking." Al shrugged. "Why don't you sign those and we'll see if we can't find an appointment book or something, maybe in your purse?" Sam glared. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- She turned as the door opened and a colorfully dressed man entered. She had already spoken to a Dr. Beena or something like that. The doctor had warned her that an admiral might be coming to see her sometime. This must be him. Katrina was very confused and a little frightened, of course, but she was so emotionally exhausted over the past few days (the bits she could remember anyway) that she almost welcomed this. "Admiral?" she asked. Al sized her up. She had long dark hair, fairly curly, and penetrating brown eyes. Her voice was not what he had expected; it was soft and gentle and yet very weary. Al simply nodded in response to her question and sat down in a chair. "I need to ask you a few questions," he said, not meeting her eyes for a moment. "How can I help you?" Al hesitated. He couldn't help thinking that she was very calm for someone in her position, but everyone had such different reactions to finding themselves in the future. "Why were you divorcing your husband?" Her answer was simple and it was clear she was used to talking about it by now. "Because he beat me." "He beat you?" "That is correct. If you'd examine my medical records, I'm sure you'd find evidence to support my claim." "He says you were always too high to notice," he retorted sharply. "Admiral....I do not know you and I do not appreciate your tone. If you must ask me these questions, please do so in a civilized manner," she said tartly. Al blinked and then stood up violently. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to come back later." Without another word, Al marched out the door, almost running Verbeena over on his way to the Control Room. "Al!" she stopped dead in her tracks. He stopped, but was looking at his cigar, not her. She studied him carefully. "Are you all right?" "Sure. Excuse me, I have to go see Sam," Al said and pushed abruptly past her. Verbeena shook her head and entered the Waiting Room. It was obvious that there was something bothering Al, but he would sooner give up his cigars than talk to her about it. At least she could count on the fact that, most likely, Sam would pick up on it and drag it out of him. Al wasn't as good at hiding his feelings as he thought he was. Katrina looked even more upset than Al had and Verbeena sensed trouble brewing. "Katrina?" she asked gently, "is everything okay?" Tears sprang into her eyes with startling urgency and Verbeena sat on the table next to her. "Do you want to talk about it?" Katrina took a shaky breath and nodded. "It's just....I thought that I could make a clean start, you know? I divorced Ben, I'm trying to find a job to pay off my debts. I mean, I've done some things I'm not proud of and I'm not just talking about drugs or even Ben. There were things before.....and I can never get that back again." Katrina clenched her hands into tight fists. "And....no matter how much I do with my life from now until the day I die-" Verbeena fliched, but the woman didn't notice "-none of it will ever matter because of my past." Verbeena looked sympathetically at the woman. "No...." she said slowly, "none of it will matter. Until you learn to forgive yourself." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- Sam made it to Katrina's home: a small apartment on the West side of Miami. Boxes littered the floor and Sam presumed that she hadn't had time yet to fully unpack from moving out from Ben's place. He heard the sound of the Imaging Chamber Door open and started in surprise. Al was back early. In a way, Sam was very glad for this because, although he had dropped the subject Al's comments earlier, he certainly had not forgotten it. But things did not look good. Years of practice and friendship had taught Sam to read Al and he'd seen these signs before. His shoulders were slightly slumped, his cigar shook ever so slightly, and his eyes wandered, never resting on one location for very long. Not only that, but he was playing with the handlink. Oh yes, this was bad. It was something very important and he was very troubled about it. And it was Sam's guess that Al had neglected to talk to anyone back at the project about it. Now, how to ease into the situation?..... "Back so soon?" Sam asked casually. "Would you rather I left?" *Ouch...Okay, bad beginning.* Sam ignored the sharp comment and tried a different tack. "Got anything new from Katrina?" Al sighed, obviously regretting jumping on Sam. "Nah, she wasn't very cooperative. Verbeena's in there with her now." He seemed to be forcing every word out of his mouth, as if he were disgusted with her behavior, or was it something else he was disgusted with? Sam couldn't tell yet. "What do you mean by that?" "Oh.....just that she was very unwilling to talk to me about what _she_ had done. She's gonna play the innocent in this, Sam." "Al," Sam chastized gently, "she _is_ a victim here. Just because she's not guiltless doesn't mean that we shouldn't help her." Al did not reply, but the bitterness in his eyes remained. "Well," Sam tried again, "I found her apointment book. It was a bit tricky what with unpacking still going on and all, but I was about to take a look." Al moved around behind Sam to look over his shoulder. Within moments, Sam was completely in awe of the woman who's life he had landed in the middle of. "Al, look at this: job interviews, charity work, councilling sessions.....she's doing it all. I don't know who you talked to in the waiting room, but this woman is pulling her shattered life together awfully fast and very well." "Yeah," there was no agreement in Al's tone, "until she looses it again, for good this time." Sam sighed and swiveled around in his chair to face Al. At least his comments were not merely blind attacks anymore, but Sam still heard the underlying bitterness and wondered at its source. "Al?" "Yeah, Sam?" Al suddenly sounded very old in his companion's ears. Al knew what was coming; he had known Sam far too long _not_ to realize that he would get it out of him eventually. A part of Al wondered if that wasn't part of the reason he had come back so soon: to have it dragged out of him. "Is there something bothering you?" Al shifted his balance forward slightly, but maintained a perfect neutral tone. "Why do you ask?" Sam stood to meet his friend at eye level. It had to be something really big; Al was fighting the impulse to spill it all harder than he usually did. "Because you're jumpy, irritable, and you sound as if you'd just as soon finish off Katrina for the mugger. I know you too well. Out with it." Al shuddered. He had come so close, Sam had. He all but hit the nail right on the head and if he had been just a little closer, or a little further, Al would have told him everything. But he didn't. This was too personal, too close to his heart to share easily even with his best friend and he fled the Imaging Chamber like a deer suddenly released from the headlights' captivation. In 1953, Sam stood in from of a small maple desk with a dazed look on his face and an ache in his heart.