Date: Sun, 22 May 94 12:08:58 EDT From: "Tracy E. Finifter" Subject: Meant to Be - Pt. 2 Message-Id: "Meant to Be - August 12, 1953" by Tracy E. Finifter Part 2 The 1950's were a time when the mentally handicapped were regarded as freaks of nature, defects who were best left locked away in two bit institutions rather than 'plague' normal society. Mental illness was often misunderstood, due to lack of knowledge about the brain and lack of caring about those afflicted. Sam gritted his teeth. Not while he was here, he thought. He knew better, and would give all the patients here the best care he could give them while he could. And just maybe, in the process he could show the doctors and nurses here a thing or two about caring for the mentally ill. Sam sat down at the small wood desk that nearly blocked the entrance to the back room and started looking through some of the papers on the desk. His first priority, he decided, was to see how the patients were being treated, in the process maybe learning some names. He found nothing helpful. He realized that the patient summaries were probably locked in the doctor's office. Sam then proceeded to his next course of action, to meet with each of the patients. He walked over to the first bed, only to find the patient catatonic. Undaunted, Sam began to talk to him. "So, how are you today?" It seemed like a stupid thing to say, but "What's your name?" would've been worse, and those were the only choices he could think of at the moment. "He doesn't hear you, Mister," said the patient in the next bed. Sam turned towards him. "Yes he does, he just doesn't..." Sam stopped short as the patient's full sentence registered in his mind. "What do you mean, Mister?" The patient, who acted very much like a young child yet seemed relatively coherent compared with his roommates, chuckled at Sam's question as if it were an obvious ploy to test his mental abilities. "I may be crazy, but I'm not *stupid*," he said with rolling eyes and a childlike manner, very striking in a man in his thirties as he appeared to be. "You mean, you can see that I'm not Nurse Kerr?" Sam's mind automatically began searching for a solution. He knew from experience that animals, little children, and psychics could see him for who he was, but he had limited experience with the mentally handicapped, whose reactions could best be judged on a case by case basis. This patient was able to see Sam, but would others with different conditions see him too? Would those who could see him be able to see Al? His hundreds of questions would have to await Al's reappearance, which hopefully would be soon. Sam redirected his attention to the patient as he answered him. "Of course I can, but why are you wearing her outfit?" "Uh, it's a long story. What's your name?" Since the cat was out of the bag, Sam decided it was safe to play the stranger. "Nicky," he replied timidly. "What's yours?" "My name is Sam." "And where's Nurse Kerr?" "She's gone away for a couple of days, but she'll be back. Until then, though, we're all going to pretend that I'm Nurse Kerr, do you understand?" "No," Nicky replied matter-of-factly, "but I'll pretend anyway. I like you Sam." Sam smiled. "I like you too, Nicky." And with that, he moved onto the next patient. As he went along, it was much the same story. The patients ranged from catatonic to hyperactive and everywhere in between. Some of them had appeared absolutely normal, but Sam knew that not all forms of mental illness were outwardly visible at all times. Without knowing their case histories, he didn't want to make premature judgments. Forty-five minutes later, he reached the far end of the room which was occupied by a handful of women, ranging in ages from the teens to the sixties. Sam sat next to the youngest woman, whose age was difficult to judge but who couldn't have been any older than seventeen, and who appeared to be one of the youngest patients in the hospital. She had dark hair and an olive complexion, with mongoloid facial characteristics indicated that she was a Down's syndrome patient. "Hi!" she said as she played with her beaten-up doll, and filled with an openness and enthusiasm that took Sam by surprise. "What's your name?" Sam smiled. She was young, but her behavior made her seem younger still. Right away, Sam could tell that this person was trusting and loving, and definitely deserved better in life than to be cooped up in this hospital. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he was here to help her. "My name is Sam Beckett. What's yours?" She drew herself up proudly, just like a four year old when he is asked his name and he can give the full and proper response. "Trudy," she declared. "Trudy Calavicci." Had Sam's jaw not been attached to his head, it would have fallen right through the floor. No wonder Al had fled so quickly. Sam could only begin to imagine how he must have felt; to suddenly find himself in the hospital where his sister was, forty-six years in the past, and knowing that his sister was still *alive*. All the anger that Sam had felt because of Al's retreat was gone, replaced by sympathy and understanding. Sam had never known Trudy; according to Al, Sam would have been a baby when she died. But Al had been nearly in tears, or as nearly in tears as Sam ever remembered him being, when he asked God via Sam how a sixteen-year-old girl could die of pneumonia in 1953. Maybe deep down inside, Al somehow blamed himself for her death. It was unfounded, but understandable; for years Sam blamed himself for Tom's death. But that changed, thanks to Al. Al helped him save Tom's life at the cost of his own freedom. It was a debt that Sam never expected he'd be able to repay, but now he knew how he could. He couldn't help Al keep Beth, that was against his own rules. But now it seemed that Time, Fate, or God didn't give a damn about Sam Beckett's rules. And frankly, neither did Sam Beckett anymore. Sam looked into Trudy's eyes. The teenager with the innocence of a little girl looked back at him, studying him with trusting eyes and a huge grin, had died of pneumonia before the year's end, but not anymore. Sam got up and headed back to the nurses' desk. He didn't know what to do or how to feel, he just wanted Al back, now, to let him know that his secret was out, and that everything was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Al had loved his sister very much, Sam knew that, and it would surely hurt him to see her wasting away in this rotten hole. But he was here too, and he needed to know why. The pain of the past would have to wait. "What's wrong now, Peg?" asked the other nurse who was seated at the desk. Sam just then noticed that he was staring into space and biting his lip. He refocussed himself and squinted to try and read the nurse's name, but her long hair covered her name tag. His usual recovery reflexes failed him as he mumbled back to her, "Nothing, I... uh, just... Nothing." "You're starting to worry me, you know. You've been acting strange all day." "I'm, uh, sorry. I'm just a little under the weather, I guess." "Don't tell me you're coming down with a cold, too?" she drew back suspiciously. "Why don't you sit down and fill out your daily reports while I get the place ready for dinner." "That sounds like a good idea," Sam said and sat down on the chair across the desk from the nurse. Taking pencil in hand, Sam took the report sheets and began filling in the blanks. Instead of getting up, however, the nurse just stared at Sam. After a few seconds, Sam looked back to her. "Is something wrong?" "Since when did you become right-handed?" Without batting an eye, Sam slowly switched the pencil from his right hand to his left. The nurse just shook her head as she got up to leave, and Sam went back to work. The nurse's exit to the far side of the room was interrupted, however, by the sound of patient coughing. Sam looked over to see it was Trudy. _It's starting_, he thought. But before he could get up to help, the nurse had brought her a glass of water, which Trudy readily accepted and went back to her business. His attention then turned to the sound of the Imaging Chamber door behind him. Al had chosen to appear in the back room, and as Sam went back to talk to him, he noticed how disheveled Al looked, despite his brave front. It was the kind of crumpled look he had whenever personal problems kept him from eating or sleeping right. As soon as Al saw he had Sam's attention, he started talking, without preamble, in a non-stop rambling. "Ziggy's figured out why you're here. Really easy, cut and dry stuff. In two days, your co-worker, Nurse Michelle D'Agostino, gets hit by a car when she's walking home from work. She doesn't die, but she does break her back, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down and never walks again. Ziggy says there's a 92.3% chance that all you have to do is keep her here ten minutes later. Or send her home ten minutes early. Anything to keep her from being hit by that car. No problem, right?" Al desperately wanted to keep talking, but he had run out of things to say. "Al," Sam said quietly, "I know about Trudy." In an instant, Al's facade melted away, and the man seemed to deflate right before Sam's eyes. His voice was barely a whisper. "You're not here for her." "I'm sorry, Al. I know how much this must hurt." Al continued without really acknowledging Sam. "I ran through every possible scenario through Ziggy twenty times, and it's definitely Michelle you're here for, not Trudy, so..." He stopped again, and looked back at Sam. "Yeah, well, we all have our crosses to bear, Sam. Just some of us more than others." Sam thought about how painfully true that was. He thought about everything the older man had gone through, and the list was entirely too long. Sam thought of his own experiences as well, but Al had helped him change at least one thing in his life. Tom was alive because of Al. How could he not help him regain at least one thing that Al had lost? Al recognized the look in Sam's eye. "No, Sam. I don't want you to even try it. It... it wasn't meant to be." He opened the Imaging Chamber door and stepped inside. "I'm gonna go and..." "Al," Sam interrupted. "Don't even try it Sam, *please*," Al repeated, and closed the door. Sam could only stare after him in silence. "Peg, are you going to stay in there all night or are you going to help me out here?" "Coming, Michelle," Sam responded. He went back into the main room and helped Michelle serve dinner, all the while wondering what to do. Al had practically begged him to do nothing, but to just let history happen as it had before had grown against his nature since he started this crazy job. No. Things were going to change. Michelle wasn't going to become paralyzed in some car accident, and Trudy wasn't going to die, forgotten, in some run- down institution. Just then, Trudy's coughing once again caught Sam's attention. He went over to her and took out his persona's stethoscope. "That's a pretty nasty cough you have there, Trudy." "Yeah, it's been bothering me for a couple days, Sam," Trudy said. "Have the doctors done anything about it?" "Dr. Zimmerman listens to me with that thing every day and then tells me I'll be fine in the morning. So I'll be fine." As much as she tried to sound upbeat, Sam could hear the fatigue in her body. "Do you mind if I listen?" "No," she answered. Sam gently bent her over and put the stethoscope to her back. He breathed an inaudible sigh when he heard the fluids that filled her lungs. She probably had an infection, too, and she definitely needed more treatment than she had been getting. Michelle, noticing what Sam was doing, came over. "What's the matter, Peg?" she asked. "Get Dr. Zimmerman down here," Sam said. "What's the matter?" Michelle asked. "Trudy's coughing pretty bad. She might have an infection." "She has a cold," Michelle informed, "just like half the patients in this ward have had for the past two weeks. Or did you forget how we've been running around like maniacs lately? Dr. Zimmerman's taking care of it." "No, he isn't," Sam replied. "She needs proper medical care." "She's in a hospital..." "That's not giving her the care she deserves. Now get me Dr. Zimmerman," Sam said with the anger and impatience that were beginning to grow inside him. "Is there a problem, Nurses?" came Dr. Zimmerman's voice from down the aisle. "Dr. Zimmerman," Sam said, "I'd like you to take a look at Trudy. She's been coughing a lot lately. I think she may have pneumonia." "Is that a doctor's opinion, Nurse?" Dr. Zimmerman asked with a slight edge of sarcasm. "Well, Doctor..." Sam started. Dr. Zimmerman didn't wait for a reply. He stepped past Sam, placed his stethoscope on Trudy's back, and listened. Moments later, he looked back up. "She's a little congested, but it's nothing to worry about. She'll be fine in a few days." "You've been saying that for days already, Doctor," Sam retorted, "and she's been getting worse, not better." "Are you a doctor, Nurse Kerr?" Dr. Zimmerman asked sharply. The fact that Sam couldn't answer truthfully angered him even more. The doctor continued. "I went to school at the University of Maryland. I got my M.D. from Johns Hopkins. I think I would know a simple case of pneumonia if I heard it, but I don't hear it. Miss Calavicci has a cough. We all get coughs every now and then. It will pass." "She also probably has malformed lungs and a weakened immune system which might not be able to fight an infection as well as a healthy adult! Viral pneumonia in her case could be dangerous, bacterial pneumonia could be fatal!" Sam fought back. He was angry, not just at Trudy's treatment, but at the apathy that the staff, and especially the doctor, seemed to have about their patients. By the nurse's and the doctor's silence, Sam realized that he had either gone totally over the line or revealed information that they were not aware of. He tried to think, but couldn't remember how much was known or not known about Down's Syndrome in 1953. Or for that matter, the various forms of pneumonia and the treatments available at the time. "If you feel it is that important, Nurse, then I think arrangements could be made for Miss Calavicci to get treatment at another hospital, if her family would authorize the move. She is a minor, after all." "But Trudy's an orphan," Sam informed, upset that the doctor didn't even know that much about his patient. "Then I guess there's not much we can do," Dr. Zimmerman said, even with a touch of sadness. "She probably couldn't afford another hospital then, anyway, which is probably why she's here," he appended. "We could do something for her, start her on penicillin, something." Dr. Zimmerman sighed. "Very well, then. You seem to know what's best for her, Nurse Kerr. You can take care of her. Nurse D'Agostino, in the case of Miss Calavicci, I want you to treat Nurse Kerr's orders as if they were my own. Will that be sufficient?" Though Zimmerman's tone was sarcastic, Sam couldn't help but to breathe a sigh of relief. Things were going to change now, and for the better. A terrible wrong was going to be put right. Dr. Zimmerman headed off, looking only mildly disturbed at the bout he had just lost. Michelle just looked at Sam disapprovingly. "What's wrong?" Sam asked at last. "Why did you do that?" Michelle asked sharply. Sam sighed. Attitudes were always difficult to change, in any decade, and this was going to be no exception. "I just don't think that we're providing the best care we can to the patients at this hospital." "Well, is that any reason to insult Dr. Zimmerman like that? You know, he really does care a lot about the patients here and he does work hard for them, it's just he has to fight budgets and lack of money to do so. Many people don't consider a mental hospital a real hospital, and we get passed over by a lot of groups when it comes time for charity season. Look at this place! We're overworked and understaffed and I think the doctors of this hospital deserve a little more respect from us than to hear their credentials questioned." Michelle's passionate speech surprised Sam into silence. Michelle walked away, and Sam turned his attention back to Trudy who was having another coughing fit. As he tried to comfort his patient, he suddenly felt regret over his confrontation with the doctor. Michelle was right. There were people who cared already, but they were fighting uphill battles against a society that didn't understand. "What's wrong, Sam?" Trudy asked innocently. "Nothing," Sam replied. "You just take this medicine and get some rest, and we'll try to make your cough better." "Thank you, Sam." "You're welcome, Trudy." Trudy took the medication happily, then laid back and buried herself under the meager covers. Sam went back to the other side of the room where Michelle was gathering her things and two other nurses had entered the room. "See you tomorrow, Peg?" Michelle asked, after having calmed down from before. "Sure thing," Sam replied and started picking up "his" things as well while new nurses started settling in for their shifts. It was time to find his newest temporary home, and hope that Al would be there to provide a little company. But he wouldn't really blame him if he didn't. "Good night, Peg," Michelle said, and walked out the door and down the stairway. Sam did the same a few minutes later, checking his persona's wallet to find his address. Although he wasn't very familiar with Baltimore, he had enough to think about to occupy his walk home. When he did arrive at his apartment, he was somehow disappointed to find it empty. Al should have been back by now, under normal circumstances. But then again, this leap was anything but normal. Intent on trying to relax before he drove himself crazy, he cooked himself dinner and listened to the radio for a while. Margaret Kerr apparently lived a quiet life, and Sam was content to follow her lead. Working one day at that hospital had drained his energy to the point where even at seven thirty in the evening, he was almost ready to turn in. A little later that evening, Al came back. "How goes it, kid?" he asked, still looking as crumpled as he had earlier that day. "Fine, Al. How are you?" "Can't complain," Al answered, trying to sound nonchalant. "Tina's back from visiting her mother. The Lakers just won the championships. All's right with the world." Sam smiled. Al always tried to keep a light tone, even when he was hurting. Sam didn't attempt to change the subject. He was grateful for the company, and knew Al would skip out if any mention of Trudy was made. "You didn't tell me Tina was at her mother's." "Oh, yeah, she spent the last week there visiting. Awfully lonely when she's not around." "Am I hearing you correctly? Are you telling me that you didn't seek *other* female company while she was away?" Al shrugged. "You caught me, Sam. I guess Tina's making me into a one-woman man." "I never thought I'd see the day," Sam mused. He vaguely recalled something about Tina and Gooshie together, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. An uncomfortable silence fell between the two men as once again they ran out of things to say to each other. "All you have to do is keep her from walking in front of that car," Al said at last. "I know, Al," Sam answered. "Don't worry." Al left and Sam eventually turned in, neither man voicing what was really on their minds. Sam was upset again that Al didn't want to talk about it, but he didn't want to press the matter, either. Al was a sensitive person, as was Sam, but he didn't volunteer his feelings to anyone, not even his best friend, and honestly, on such a personal issue, Sam wasn't anxious to intrude. Besides, if Al really felt he needed to talk, he could always come back anytime, he knew that. Or else he could talk to Beeks, or any of his other friends at the Project. Al wasn't alone, and Sam just hoped he knew that. Keep Leaping... * Tracy E. Finifter + finifter@gandalf.rutgers.edu + New Brunswick, N.J. * * * * "I've got a strong urge to fly, but I got nowhere to fly to." * * -- Pink Floyd, "Nobody Home" *