PROLOGUE

As the Leaper's senses began to stir out of the Quantum mist, he was acutely aware of a deep roaring sound.  This he heard even before his Leap-in was fully complete and the veil of Quantum energy was still blanketing his other senses.  As the flux continued, he felt a vibration that to him could only mean that he was traveling in some kind of vehicle.  'A train, perhaps?' his befuddled mind theorized.

The next to be uncloaked was his sense of smell.  Wherever he was, it was hot; the air around him was desiccated and smelt of animals.  The only moisture he could feel came from his own hot and naked flesh.

"N—nak—ed!  No not again!" he murmured quietly as he felt at the flimsy material, the only thing covering his… nudity.  'Where the hell am I?' he demanded of himself and in tandem he speculated why his vision hadn't improved any.

The sound he'd heard earlier now resonated and vibrated to his very bones and he shifted slightly from his encumbered position.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a red glow and instinctively his head turned towards it.

 'Least, now I know that wherever and whenever I am, it's almost 5 a.m.,' he empathized out of the gloom.  Vague outlines started to assemble themselves together; all touched with a faint red glow and lended themselves eerily into the darkness.  He then began to realize that he wasn't traveling anywhere but reclining on a bed and the sound that was deafening him was being discharged from someone, and that someone was lying next to him.

Doctor Beckett gasped inwardly when he realized that the explosive din couldn't possibly be that made by a female.

"Ooo…" the Leaper started to mutter but the heap next to him shifted, making him bounce very close to the edge and Sam froze in anticipation.  '…oohhh boooooy!' he finished off silently.

"You awake, 'gorge'?" the bulk aside him voiced gruffly in his sleep then a smack of lips as he rearranged his mouth.

As the man beside him began to settle, the strident snorts and braying wheezes kicked off afresh.  Sam turned slightly to view his bed mate but all he received was a lungful of sweet but putrid breath of stale alcohol.  The Leaper nearly choked on the stench and turned away abruptly but his movement stirred his unwanted companion, causing him to flop an arm heavily across his naked torso.

Again, Sam froze in fear of the unexpected and awaited his partner to settle once more.  The limb dead weighted across his chest and he could feel the sticky heat being vitiated onto his flesh, disgusting him.

Sam needed to get away, but to where?  He couldn't even make out the outline to the room, never mind see where the door was, it was so dark even with the faint glow of red.

The man shifted again and his hand started to encroach along Sam's chest, down his ribs and then further.

Sam cringed and stiffened when his hand reached past the top of his hip and resumed its constant trespass.

"Ooooohhhh n-noooo!" Doctor Beckett uttered silently.

PART ONE

"Knickers!" the lout snarled, snapping the elastic onto the Leaper's flesh and made him whine.  "Not again, not already?  Now git to sleep!  I'm s'pposed to be workin' in the mornin'!" the gruff voice called out at him and again wafted the sickening smell in Doctor Beckett's direction.  "If yer goin' to the carzy then git, and stop faffing about."  He hauled himself over and bounced several times before grunting, "Git!"  He then smacked his lips again before sighing. 

"I can't see," Sam grumbled, stating the obvious.  "Can I—will you turn the light on?" he asked quickly, not knowing where the light switch could be found.

"No!" came the opulent reply, making Doctor Beckett jump.

"But…"

"If yer don't know yer way by now, then there's no hope for yer—just git yer arse outta here, now!" he growled coarsely, cutting off Sam's words.

Doctor Beckett slinked out of the bed, feeling his way to the bottom and once there didn't know which way to turn for the door.  "Ouch!  Arghh!" he feigned, fabricating a stubbed toe, in the hope that his supine partner would assist and turn on the light.

"Of all the darnedest, stupidest cripples in this world—I end up with you!" he bawled out caustically as he jostled himself upright.  "If you ain't leaping over furniture and injuring yersel' then yer usin' that trap of yours, why the hell can't you keep that trap o' yours shut?  You can't do anything.  The place is like a pigsty!" he fumed and then grunted manically as he strained to reach for the bedside light.

'Cripple?' Sam thought as he squinted in the half-light that the feeble light bulb threw out and glanced forbearingly at his intolerant bedfellow, and saw the red-faced bully glaring back at him, his eyes red, glazed and bulging from the alcohol he'd consumed.

As his eyes adjusted, the doctor in him then saw the typical signs of pellagra, the dark red pigmentation of the skin around the chest and throat, and the profusion of perspiration beading his whole body.  'Alcoholism?' Sam professed, remembering the sickening stench of breath.  'I think I'm gonna have to tread very carefully here,' he conjectured without too much forethought.

"Okay, I'm going—I'm going," Sam said, not wanting to stay a minute longer than he had to and he hurried towards the door.

"I see yer back ain't hurtin' yer n'more, 'gorge', or is that just one of yer ruses, yer gitting too good yer know… lover!" he hurled out after Sam as he closed the door quietly behind him.

 'Am I supposed to be a cripple?' he thought as his eyes closed, somewhat relieved at getting away from that dreadful ogre in one piece.  He had a bizarre feeling in his gut, one that he didn't want to readily admit to.  Sam leaned against the framework and breathed in deeply.  'Gorge?  There goes that reference again, could this be the name of my host?' Sam felt confused and bewildered and tried to think up names that would fit but couldn't come up with any.

Opening his eyes, the Leaper once again found himself in complete darkness.  He fumbled about the surrounding area of the door to find a light switch and finding several between the one door he'd just left and the framework of another immediately adjacent.  Guessing which one, he flipped a switch and was instantly confronted by a blaze of bright luminosity.

He looked about, a room, a spacious, long, rectangular room confronted him, three large draped windows faced him and to his right a vaulted staircase complete with balcony.  To his left another small flight of stairs and a door leading off to who knows where?  Every inch of available wall housed various kinds of reptilian creatures, some Sam recognized and some he didn't but each held him in fascination as he stepped towards one of the windows.  He pulled one of the drapes aside and for the first time saw his host's hazy reflection painted against the backdrop of an ebony sky.

Yes, he was definitely a she this time and promptly drew the curtain closed again when he saw that her shadowy outline was as naked as himself, apart from a pair of skimpy panties.  "Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed and as he looked down at his own skimpy underwear, a smile touched at his lips.  "Al, if you come in here now, I swear, I'll kill you!"

Not daring to return to the room for a robe, Doctor Beckett decided to seek out the bathroom, there was bound to be something there he could wrap about him.

First, Doctor Beckett tried the other door that was opposite the windows and when he opened it, a little black and white blur whizzed past him.  His gaze followed in the direction, which the animal scuttled but like a flash of lightening, it disappeared down the fight of stairs.  Sam shrugged and continued to enter but found it to be an office of some kind, so he closed the door and subsequently tiptoed past the various vivariums, he started to climb the short flight of steps.  Again, he fumbled for a light switch and again he was disappointed that he'd not found the bathroom but he wasn't disappointed for long.

"WOW!" he gasped as the enormity of the room devoured him into its midst, turning about in sheer wonder at its structure and whooping as his eyes reached the domed ceiling.  Oak beams spanned spider like into its elaborately engraved marble center, depicting the head of an oxen and between each exquisitely preserved beam were infills of intricately carved mahogany.  Even the carpeting underfoot felt to be at least a foot deep and centering the room so magnificently stood a full sized snooker table.  Catching his breath, Sam spotted two sets of double doors leading off to the right, almost concealed within their oak paneled surroundings only the brass door knobs giving away their existence.  Doctor Beckett backed around the table in awe as cottage windows winked at him from every angle, their leaded lites slightly askew, showing their age.

Exiting the room from the nearest of the double doors, Doctor Beckett was aghast again at what greeted him there.  He was standing atop a gallery and looking down into a great hall.  On the opposing side, he could see the other entrance which led back into the domed game room, this too having an identical elliptical balcony, both of which convened at the far end to form a balustrade that adorned each side of a well defined staircase which fell away to the floor below.

Several rooms led off from each of the balconies and Sam had a difficult decision in which to choose first.  Sam padded along the open gallery and opened the first door as he came to it.  Another bedroom, he nodded as he closed the door and he moved toward the next.  This time he was in luck, though it didn't look as though it was the regular bathroom, it was too sparse, too clinically clean.

Sam turned on the light as he entered and shrugged.  'What was it that jerk had said?  A pigsty?  No way do any of the rooms I have visited so far, resemble a pigsty.  Everything, as far as I can see, is where it should be, neat 'n tidy and clean.  What is it with this guy?  It must be the booze talking,' Sam decided.

The marble floor tiles struck icy cold on Sam's bare feet and he noticed that this part of the house was much cooler than that which he'd left.  Finding several towels in the closet, he proceeded in removing two, one for washing and the other, a larger one, to wrap about him once he'd finished.

Now shivering, he splashed tepid water about his torso in order to rid himself of the stench from the bohemian.  Lathering up the soap to an invigorating mass of suds, he washed and quickly rinsed down, then rubbed at his flesh vigorously to warm himself up as well as to stimulate his senses.

The fresh towel felt warm against his skin as he snuggled into its softness and reluctantly he started on his return journey, though he doubted that he would sleep.

Doctor Beckett stopped unabated and stared at the full-length mirror to the side of the door.  Sam's brow creased as he saw his host's reflection clearly, and wasn't fogged by the blackened backdrop, as the window had reflected earlier.  There, aghast at what he saw, his chin dropped a mile.

"My God!" Sam muttered; cringing visibly at the bruises that blotched the front of is host's chest and arms.  He dropped the towel and swallowed hard when he saw the enormity of the crimson and purple but yellowing patch that blemished the flesh around her tummy and also the tops of her thighs.  He touched at the blotch hesitantly and winced.

Sam glared towards the door.  "No need for Al to tell me what I'm here to do this time!" he seethed loudly, hoping that his words would travel past the door and reach the joker in the other part of the house.

No sooner were his words out, when he heard the familiar sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening up behind him.

"Uh-oh!" Al vocalized as Sam retrieved the towel to cover himself.

"Can't you give me some kinda warning or somethin'?" Sam vindicated.  "Why do you always charge in at the most inappropriate moments?"

"You want that I should wear a cowbell?  Though I doubt you'd even hear that in time," the observer pouted, tongue in cheek.

Sam frowned.  "Where am I, Al?"

Al pressed the button on the handlink.  "You're smack dab in the middle of England Sam, though exactly where, Ziggy can't pinpoint," he said as he slapped a hand into the handlink when Ziggy didn't show up.  "Darn it Stephen, I thought you'd fixed this!" he yelled, looking up at nothing above him.

"What is it now?" Sam asked, looking at his friend, puzzled.

"Darned circuitry!" Al said as he again bashed at the implement.  "Stephen said he'd had problems connecting the conduits and… erm… thingies err, those limpet nodes," he continued to slap at the device.  "…he used bubble gum the first time.  But the trouble is when…"—slap—"…it dries out… the circuits get all un…"—wallop—"…attached again.  I think Stephen will have to work on it some more."

Doctor Beckett shook his head and tutted, giving his friend a glare that told him that he wasn't helping matters by mistreating a delicate instrument especially if the connections were as fragile as his friend said they were.  "I wish I could help Al, but…" he said as he deliberately swiped a hand through the hologram and redressed himself quirkily.

"I know but he's a bright kid, reminds me a helluva lot of you when you were his—ahem, hmmm." Al closed his mouth with a snap when he realized he'd said too much.  "I think we need old faithful yet another time—I'll just go and fetch…"

"Al!" Sam snapped, not taking in the implications of his friend's last slip, he was more worried about being left alone.  "Before you go, Al.  Who am I?" he glanced back at the mirror.  "I know I'm a woman but what's her name?"

"We're not sure yet, I've not had the chance to talk with our visitor, she's in some kinda deep sleep and Verbena can't seem to wake her," Al said with a shake of his head and then his eyes widened.  "Maybe she's awake now, I'll ask when I fetch the other handlink—I won't be a tick."

"He referred to me twice as 'gorge', Al but it could be his drunken slur. But I can't figure it out, maybe her name's Georgina?" Sam grimaced when he saw further bruises on his host's back.

"Oh, so there's a he involved?" Al chimed as he once again pressed the single button to open up the Imaging Chamber.

"Look at her Al, she's covered from top to toe in bruises," Sam said mournfully.

"You forget Sam, I see you as you—her as you." Al started to laugh but held it back when he saw the look on his friend's face.  He stepped closer to the mirror and was horrified at what he saw. "Okay, okay, I'm on to it, heck Sam, I'll find out," Al pressed his thumb down hard onto the solitary button.  "As soon as Ziggy decides to open this goddamn door!" he yelled up again at nothing.  "Ziggy!"  Al screwed up his face and started whimpering pitifully, "What the hell is going on!"

Al hated being confined and the Leaper knew it.  Even in the vast expanse of the Imaging Chamber Al felt trapped.  Ever since Vietnam, he'd hated it when he couldn't go somewhere where he wanted to be and right now he wanted to be in the Control Room.

"Ziggy!" Al whimpered again.

"She'll know," Sam said soberly.

"Who?" whined Al.

"Ziggy, she'll know and she'll let you out as soon as she realizes what's happening," Sam explained.  "You'll just have to be patient."

"Patient?"

"Yeah, like in: 'everything comes to those who wait'," Sam empathized.

"Wait?  Patience?  Yeah, I've had a lot of practice at both of those," Al said more perkily.

"Do you know the date where I'm at, Al?" Sam asked changing the subject.

"Hmmm," Al thought; the strain showing on his face as he lowered his head.  "Ziggy did say but in the hubbub, I've sorta forgot," he said awkwardly, looking up at Sam sheepishly.

The Imaging Chamber door whizzed open behind him and Sam gave him a look that said, 'told you so.'  Al beamed.

"I think it's 19—98—7, Sam, No—vember I think," Al said as he stepped into the bright light. "But don't quote me on that," he continued to say as the door collapsed and Doctor Beckett was left alone again in the sparse bathroom.

He pulled the towel closer around his now chilled body, clutching it tightly as he opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.  The rich carpeting felt warm to his feet and Doctor Beckett wiggled his frozen toes to absorb some of the heat.  Then he felt something hairy rub against his legs and as he looked down, he recognized the now clearly portrayed black and white blur that had so recently zoomed past him.

"Hello there, how did you get here?" Sam said as he bent down to pet at the dog.  "And what's your name, huh?" he felt around the dog's neck for a collar, "hmm, no collar either, huh?" he frowned.  "I thought at least you'd have a nametag."

The dog whined in answer and looked at Doctor Beckett quizzically, head tilted and ears pricked.

Sam crouched down even further, almost sitting on the deep pile of the carpet and stroked at the dog's head.  "I know this is kinda strange for you boy," he said after checking the dog's gender.  "I still find it sorta strange myself… tell you what, I'll tell you my name if you'll tell me yours."

Doctor Beckett waited as if in response for an answer, he then continued, "Hmmm, so you're not telling, huh?  Don't blame you, I can't tell anyone my name either.  Can you keep a secret?" again Sam paused and this time the dog yawned out a reaction.  "Okay boy, my name's Sam, but you mustn't tell a soul, it's a secret."

The dog licked at Doctor Beckett's hand and pawed gently but impatiently at his legs.

"Time to go, eh?  Come on then, I s'pose we'd better be getting back," Sam said as he stood.

Nervously, he retraced his steps, the little dog faithfully following.  He headed back into the game room and once there, he noticed more of its contents.  From this perspective, there were three other gaming tables and he wondered why he hadn't noticed them before, perhaps it was the enormity and the central position of the table that had distracted him.  In the far right corner, stood a pool table and as with the snooker table, all of the balls were positioned ready for play.

On the right, a green baized, horseshoe shaped card table with a centralized opening and chairs positioned around its circumference.

In the near left corner and canopied beneath an elaborately carved oak gazebo, a roulette table was positioned.  To the side a stairway spiraled up and around, leading to the platformed roof which overhung about a fifth of the way into the room.

Stepping back, Sam looked upward and saw the ornamental encasement surrounding a seated area.

Shaking his head in wonder, Doctor Beckett suddenly realized that maybe, he might be missed and he hurriedly padded across the room and to the door where the little dog sat waiting patiently.  As he pulled it open, a blast of hot air hit him full in the face, almost taking his breath away.  The aridness made his mouth and throat instantaneously dry.

Sam coughed as the heat rasped at his lungs, making him dizzy and he had to hold onto the banister as he descended the few stairs to the lower level.  The door swung automatically closed behind him and slammed on impact, startling the Leaper into jumping the remainder of the small flight, and into landing awkwardly.

"Damn!" Sam cursed as he sat on the bottom step and nursed at a sore ankle.

"Looks like you're in the wars now pal," Al said as the Imaging Chamber door whooshed closed.

"This place is like—like unreal, Al," Sam said indicatively, looking up at his friend.

"He's not—not done anything untoward, has he Sam?" Al asked, quickly glancing about him for another presence, he then saw the little dog, his head cocked, looking Al up and down inquisitively.  He greeted the little dog with a hurried wave from his hand.

"No, he's totally out of if.  Can't you hear him, Al?"  Sam frowned, flapping a hand towards the bedroom door.

Al stood motionless and listened.  "That's… human?" he garbled in stupefaction.  "He sounds like a power-driven sawmill," he joked.

"What did you find out?  Who the hell am I and who's he?"  Sam once again waved his arms toward the door.

"Well… you're name's not Georgina, that's for sure," Al said provocatively.

Sam glared at his friend requesting a more positive answer, when one wasn't forthcoming, he started to stand and winced at the pain in his ankle, he grabbed hold of the banister, letting loose the towel.

"Nice undies," Al mocked with a snicker.

Sam repeated his frozen glare for a few moments before retrieving the towel.

PART TWO

"Hmmm," Al sighed negatively with a shrug.  "We couldn't get anything out of our visitor so; Zig ran a check on the address.  From the British census records, we've found out that you're name's Joanna Suzman, you're a 43 year old housewife—hey, but that's not all Sam, you're a college student and taking a degree in Computer Science at the local university."

Doctor Beckett raised his brow.  "Impressive.  But…" he started to say but before he could say any more his friend interrupted.

"And there's more…" Al tweaked the handlink with a stubborn thud from his cigar-laden hand and scattered ash into the oblivion of the next century. "According to Ziggy, seven years ago she was two months away from getting her medical doctorate but had to give it all up on account of…"

"Don't tell me," Sam said as he nodded his head towards the closed bedroom door.  "I already know that's the reason and it's making more racket than a train pulling into Washington's Grand Central."

Al raised his eyebrows and at the same time frowned but he didn't say a word.

"Okay Al, you've got me.  What am I here to do?  Not that I don't know already from what I've seen of Joanna."

"Hang on Sam; it'll be through in a second or so.  Ziggy's having trouble interfacing with the computers over here and they still haven’t updated their systems yet for the Millennium bug," Al explained, thudding the handlink in order to get the information through faster.

Clutching the towel around his midriff, Doctor Beckett tried again to stand, rising slowly he tested the weight on his sore ankle.  He looked about him and saw a small alcove that lead off from the banisters.  He patiently made his way over to it whilst his friend was waiting to retrieve the information needed from the handlink.

Al followed a few paces behind, looking in each of the glass cases as he past them by.  One in particular grabbed his attention.  "That's one mean looking son of a gun!" Al gasped as he saw the longest snake he'd ever seen, he then immediately shot back as the snake started to uncoil.

"What's that?" Sam inquired as he about turned and retraced his steps.  "Tywan Beauty?" he recited quizzically as he stooped down to read from the label in the bottom right hand corner.

"Geeze Sam, he's a big one!" Al exclaimed with a shudder.  "Don't get too close—'cos he looks like he has the strength to break through that glass."

"He is a she, Al, says so right here," Sam said, looking up at Al and pointing to the description tag.  "Fifteen foot on the last measuring."

Returning his hands to his knees, Sam's body swayed in amusement and when he saw the gaunt expression on his friend's face, he smiled mockingly.  He couldn't help it, but he was ashamed to admit that he quite enjoyed seeing his friend squirm.

"You mean they actually measure those darned things… they actually take em out and measure em… by… hand?"

"S'pose they must do," Sam said with an amused lick of his lips.

"Horrid, slimy critters," Al shuddered at the thought.

"That is a misconception that the majority of people make, when in fact they're warm and silky to the touch," Sam said as he tapped lightly on the glass, just to annoy Al.

Al shuddered again and was relieved when the handlink squealed for attention.  A split second after, the resonance of police sirens blared out.

Doctor Beckett looked at his friend in surprise.  "I thought you said we were in England, Al, those sirens are American."

"We are, least that's where Ziggy says we are," Al said with uncertainty as his fingers flittered across the keys on the handlink.

Amidst the sirens, gunshots blasted out over the steady hum drumming of the heating and ventilating system for the vivariums.  Both friends turned to each other and with one mind they mutually uttered, "Television!"

"He's awake, Sam!" Al warned.

Limping slightly, Sam started heading towards the bedroom door.  "He must have that thing turned up full blast, if it's that loud in here.  Whatever will the neighbors think?"

"Okay… I'll add inconsiderate to the list too, shall I?" Al said, biting at his lower lip.

Sam shot back in surprise and almost let go of the towel when the door to the bedroom started to open.

"Gorge, I've had a little accident," a pitiful and almost childlike voice wafted in from the bedroom.

Sam ignored the remark and Al looked at his friend in amazement.  "You should really go in and see what he's done," Al stipulated.  "Alcoholics can do the most amazing—stupid things and I should know," he laughed as a remembrance popped to the surface of his memory.  "Ya know, once I was so stupefied I couldn't even remember where I'd parked my darned car.  And I know what you're gonna say here Sam," he conjectured, "you're gonna say that I shouldn't have been driving anyways, right?"

"You're wrong there!" Sam stipulated. "I wasn't thinking about saying that at all.  I was thinking that it was a good thing that you couldn't remember where you parked your car, 'cos you'd have driven it home— 'anyways'."

"Gorge, I need some help," the voice said, evermore pitifully.  "GORGEOUS!!" he bellowed when Joanna didn't immediately run to his aid.

Al sucked at his teeth and frowned.  "Same thing… in my book."

"No it isn't," Sam said just before he pushed the bedroom door open a little wider.

"GORGE!!" the lout yelled even louder.  "Gor—g—eous?" his tone now whimpering sorrowfully.

Doctor Beckett sighed deeply and pushed the door open wide, he stood in the doorway but didn't enter.  "What have you done this time?" he supplicated, taking the man's use of words and tone as being: 'This wasn't the first time this has happened.'  Sam gulped inwardly when he saw the man flaunting his nakedness before him.  It was not a pretty sight.

"I've wet the bed," he whined babyishly as he stood looking down at a yellowing wet patch that was spreading out against the whiteness of the sheet.

"HA—HA!!" Al laughed candidly from outside, not wanting to disguise his joviality at what the man had said.  "I remember that one too… though it's not a fond one."  He shook is head as he joined Sam in the doorway.

"I got the wrong bottle and didn't know it."  Sniveling, he held up a plastic milk bottle, full to the brim of yellowish fluid.

Doctor Beckett squirmed as the gross mutation held out the bottle for Sam to take.  At once, he felt filthy again as he remembered the dampness of his skin just after his Leap-in, he shuddered at the thought… no, it couldn't be… no… could it?  But his flesh began to crawl all the same.  He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts.  He felt the pit of his stomach begin to rise.  Al's voice calmed him somewhat when he realized he wasn't the only one who was disgusted at what he was seeing.

"Though I don't think I was as bad at that to resort to… Yuck, is that disgusting."  Al wrinkled his nose and almost choked at what he was seeing, beside the bed was another half-empty bottle, containing the same yellow fluid.  "This is so Gawddamed awful I could barf and look at that gut—it's almost as if…"

"Al!" Doctor Beckett reprimanded his friend aloud and then immediately regretted it.  "I—I'll," Sam renounced retrospectively when the man looked at him suspiciously.  "I'll go and get some clean linen," he said, refusing the bottle offered and backed out of the door.

"Who the hell is this guy, Al?" Sam whispered when he'd closed the door.

Al glanced down at the handlink and snickered.  "According to Ziggy his name's Geoffrey Peterson but…"

"I thought you said that I'm Joanna Suzman, how come she hasn't taken his name?" Sam butted in.

"Well, if you'd let me finish I was just about to say that he's also known as Peter Jerryson, Derek Copestake, Gerald Suzman, Barry Holmes, and gawd knows how many other aliases, perhaps even Homer Simpson at some point." Al laughed but it turned into a sheepish grin when he saw that Sam was not at all amused, he cleared his throat.  "But from the data, Ziggy is adamant that Geoffrey is his real name," Al said, letting the handlink drop down to his side.

"So Al, WHAT do I call him?" Sam asked indignantly.

"Well, for starters and seeing that your—her—Joanna's name's Suzman, try Gerald." In his frustration, Al hit out at the handlink.  "Hey!  It looks like he's taken a lot of people on a merry dance, including his mother, he took—takes her for a pretty penny too."

"When is that?" Sam asked.

"Ah, that's… not for a couple of years, your time, Sam," Al said gleaning more information from Ziggy.  "He gets so out of it in later years that other women won't look at him twice and he has to resort to his family to bail him out.  Sam, it's one thing tricking strangers out of their money but when it come to family, well, darn it, that's not right, not right at all."

"How can someone…" Sam said, indicating to the bedroom, "get away with the same thing over and over and for so long without getting caught?"

"A devious mind, always plotting something or other, clever too by the looks of it and combined with the gift of the gab."

"How come?  He's so groggy and unstable."

"You wait Sam, in a couple 'o hours he'll be a different man, you'll not recognize him."

"I don't believe that," Sam exacted.

"Believe me Sam, I should know."

The door to the bedroom opened suddenly.  "You might as well take this with you!" the naked Gerald grunted as he threw the soiled sheet into Doctor Beckett's face.

The little dog cowered and a growl started to grow in his throat when he saw exactly who it was that was standing in the doorway.

"And stop dawdling!" Gerald snapped as he looked about him somewhat secretively.  "Who are you talking to anyway?  I thought I heard voices."

The growl turned into a snarl and Gerald's eyes fell on the small canine.

"Sam!" Jerry trilled joyously.

Sam shot back in astonishment, giving his friend an astute glare.  Al replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Sammy?  Where the hell have you been all night?" he exacted and pointed a derisory finger into the bedroom.

The little dog shrank away but after a second or two, he obeyed and skulked towards the bedroom where a cumbersome foot made his journey that bit quicker.

Sam stepped forward after seeing the outlandish display towards the dumb animal.

"Sam!" Al warned.  "Careful, Sam, don't do anything you'll regret later."  Al could see that his friend was seething inside and he would have done the exact same thing, if he was in Sam's position, but he wasn't.  But he was in a position where he could see where this might lead.

Wisely, Sam backed off and turned tail.  He headed for the alcove he'd seen earlier but as he drew closer, he found that was all it was, an alcove and so instead, he retreated back towards the stairwell and started his descent.

He didn't know where he was going but instinct told him that downstairs was the best place to be.  The lower his footfalls took him, the colder the air became and he envisioned that other part of the house where he'd found the air much colder.  This part of the house was not so grand in its decoration and soon he would find out why.

As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, Doctor Beckett once again was in darkness.  Feeling sticky from the damp sheet, he shivered and looked about him for something to tell him where he could go next.  Even the faint glow from the bright lights above didn't penetrate where he stood.  And so he lingered, patiently waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.  After what seemed like an age, not even the shadows made themselves apparent, everything remained pitch black.

A scuttling noise told Sam that he was not alone in his present surroundings.  It was not a sound he recognized, it was unfamiliar to his ears, making him feel jittery.  He regretted his haste in getting away and he wished now that he'd had the foresight to turn on the light before running away.  'Yes!' he scolded himself, 'Yup, running away again, as I always do.'

"Al?" the Leaper's voice sounded uncannily abnormal and the scuttling noise seemed to grow and scurry all around him, giving him double the jitters.

He looked warily up to whence he'd come, the brightness was exceedingly alluring.  Sam's first instinct was to go back up the stairs but another voice in his head told him that it wasn't such a good idea.

"Al?  Come out, come out, wherever you are," Sam whispered anxiously.  He swallowed the mass of nerves that had accumulated in his throat but it didn't make him feel any better.  His heart fluttered as the nagging sound that he couldn't quite make out, began to stir again at the reverberation of his whispered utterance.

"What the hell… is it?" he said louder than he had intended, and was then taken swiftly unawares at yet another sound coming from his right.  A clatter, a gentle flapping as something weightless wisped onto the surface of the floor, followed in quick succession by a further, similar rattle.

Doctor Beckett found himself pressed against icy coldness, his fingers firmly groping at the painted wooden wall.  The towel and the sodden sheet forgotten as a momentary fit of terror seized every muscle taught.

"Aaarrrrgh!" he vocalized at the suddenness of the dazzling whiteness that blinded and stung at his eyes.  Even before his vision returned, he could hear the stomping of heavy feet on the stairs as they hurried downward.

"Outta my way, bitch!" the oaf, Gerald growled shoving Sam to one side.

"Now hang on, wait a minute…" Sam caught a hold of Gerald's trailing arm, stopping him in his tracks.  "What gives you the right to talk to and treat me this way?" Doctor Beckett's grip on his arm tightened.  "And not just me—every woman you talk to just lately is—is…" Sam couldn't think of the right words, he was still astounded that he should be saying this much.  "You're sick—you need to see someone about the effects your drinking is having on…"

"And what gives you the RIGHT to interfere in my getting ready for work?" Gerald demanded, glaring directly into Doctor Beckett's eyes.  The lout's face took on the features of an evil goblin as his face began to redden.

A full fifteen stone of man fat slammed Sam back into the wall.  The sweet, sickly breath swamping Doctor Beckett almost into subservience.

"Bitch—you stink, take a bath, I need my vittles 'afore I tackle this bitch of a day," he growled suggestively into Sam's ear as he pressed his weight further into him.  "Gear it up – so to speak," he sneered, insinuatingly.

Doctor Beckett's chin was almost in his chest as he tried to avoid the torrid stench and the unremitting gaze of what he—Joanna was being subjected to.  He couldn't understand why she had or was putting up with this man's infractions, though a little of Joanna did happen to filter through now and then and one of those times was now. '...to love, honor and obey, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.'

'Sweet, delusional, Joanna,' Sam thought, 'she is taking her wedding vows all too literally.  Time she woke up to who it is she's married and to the vows that he had taken too.  Wasn't it "love, honor and cherish" that went along with everything else?  Surely, he had broken his vows first and so making the contract null and void?  Least, that's the way I see…’ He also had a sense of déjà vu as though he'd gone through this scenario before.

Sam's thoughts were cut off midstream when he felt a roughly skinned hand slide to the inside of his thighs.

PART THREE

"N-n-no!" Sam said assertively and slid down the wall, out of the way of the ruffian's lecherous grasp.  Or so he thought.  "After what you've said, you don't deserve any…"

Doctor Beckett shivered with cold disbelief as lecher's knee swiftly plunged into his abdomen, pinning him even tighter into the corner of the wall and floor.  "Deserve WHAT!" the enraged Gerald pronounced.  "My RIGHTS?  I DEMAND my RIGHTS as your husband!"

"You gave up your rights as a husband when you…"

Gerald's knee pandered deeper into Sam's gut making him gasp.  "When I—when I WHAT?  Don't you mean your clumsiness?  You can't hold me responsible for your little accidents."

Gerald's searing gaze burned intensely into Doctor Beckett's subconscious, bringing forth another of Joanna's filtrations.  "Accidents my foot!  Accidents by your hand, your fists, your doing!  Whatever has Joanna done to deserve you?  And why she stays with you I'll never know!"

Gerald's features turned into a twisted snarl.  "Now I know you've lost it bitch!  An out'uv body experience, is it?  Well, you'll know soon enough what it's like to be out of body as well as out of mind, cos you're heading straight for the funny farm."

"Not as long as I have a breath in my body, I won't!" Sam promised.

"You?!!" Gerald's twisted scowl broadened, revealing an iniquitous, one toothed sneer.  His mirth spurted forth in a flume of cascading saliva.

Sam's head lurched backward as the foul dribble jettisoned into his face and he muted a groan when his head smashed against the hardness of the wall behind him.

Stunned for a few moments, Doctor Beckett blinked away the fuzziness that had made his ears ring and his head pound, and, as his focus returned, the still cruel mouth spat out hysterically, "Scared are ya?  You should be!"

"No, Jerry," Sam breathed his response as he looked past his assailant.  "I pity you."

Quizzically, Jerry looked at the woman beneath him and for a split second, he saw someone else and not his frightened, brown eyed temptress.  Doctor Beckett's steely glare looked straight through him and he felt somewhat disturbed.  Momentarily distracted, he leaned back on his haunches and stared into Joanna's face and she smiled scornfully back at him.

Sam didn't waste the opportunity and fervently pushed the lout away from him, causing Gerald to roll over backwards.  At that moment, the Imaging Chamber door opened, and as Al stepped out, they collided.  Gerald, not realizing that he was skidding his way through the twenty-first century, growled in alarm.

Seeing the encroaching Gerald, Al instinctively jumped out of the way. "Nozzle!" Al grouched as his eyes followed Gerald's journey into his time and then back out.  He then turned to Sam and was alarmed to see him hunched over in the corner.  "What the hell?  What is it Sam, you're not even dressed yet?" he queried as he raised an eyebrow, a quirky grin spreading across his face.

Sam struggled to his feet, all of the time keeping a distrustful eye on Jerry.

"What the hell happened, Sam?" the Observer repeated when he saw Sam flinch as his friend gingerly touched at his abdomen.  "You do get yourself into some unlikely predicaments."

The bewildered Gerald looked to Joanna in surprise.

"Wish I could lock him in here for you, buddy," he said quickly before the Imaging Chamber door closed down.  "Pity he's not the Leapee, we could have some real fun with him in the Waiting Room."

"Ha!" Sam directed at the Observer.

"H-how… did you do that?" the stunned Gerald asked as his dazes eyes looked about him.  The cages behind him were a hive of activity and for the first time, Doctor Beckett saw what it was that had made that awful noise which had filled him so full of dread.

Al saw them too.  "Rats!" he squawked louder than the screeching rodents.  "That's it Sam, I'm outta here!" Al said anxiously, poising a finger over the handlink.

"What did you come back for?" Sam asked Al, unthinking.

But before the Observer could answer, Gerald spoke up. "T-to fetch the p-post," he grunted with the exertion of heaving his bulk from the dusty ground and started to make his way towards the heap of multicolored envelopes.

"That's what I came to tell you Sam!" Al pointed down at the pile of letters that were scattered across the floor.  "You've got to get to the mail before that—that, nozzle does!"

Doctor Beckett turned his head to the direction in which his friend's finger indicated.

"Now, Sam!  Now!" Al supplicated as Gerald began to scoop up the letters one by one.  "He's been keeping all of Joanna's mail from her.  She has no idea that he's been doing it but Ziggy, she's found out what he's up to and it's not nice, Sam, not nice at all."

"Junk, as usual," Jerry pronounced with a wheeze of exhaled breath.  "Nothin' to worry yersel' about."

"The maggot's trying to wriggle out of it—the worm.  Bait him, Sam!" Al asserted aggressively.

Despite his pain and the still groggy sensation in his head, Doctor Beckett dashed for the door.  There was nothing the stunned Gerald could do as the Leaper slammed his body into his and once more knocked the unsuspecting Gerald off balance.

"What the f…!" the disorientated lout cursed as he yet again, found himself on the grimy floor, covered in sawdust.

"I'll take those, if you don't mind," Sam firmly declared as he seized the crumpled letters from Gerald's clutches.

Gerald reached out to retrieve one communiqué of particular interest but Sam stomped a firm foot upon the hand just as Gerald picked up one corner of the manila envelope.

"That one too, thank you," Sam said as he picked up the packet that Gerald was so interested in.  "I think now is the time—that it's my turn to decide what is junk and what isn't—don't you?"

Gerald didn't know what had hit him, and twice at that.  Joanna had always been so submissive before, that's how he could get away with what he'd been doing all of these years.  He could handle Joanna but now, he didn't know what had come over her, he hadn't seen this side of her before and he knew then that he'd have to put a stop to it, once and for all.  Otherwise, she could get out-of-hand.

"Give that one back—that one's mine!" Gerald growled as loud as his constricted lungs would allow.

Sam twisted the bulky envelope around, read the name, and address through the transparent window.  "Since when has your name been Mrs. Joanna Suzman?"

"'Tis mine I tell yer!  They've made a mistake with the name!" Gerald yowled in protest as Doctor Beckett began to tear it open.

"If it is yours, then I'll apologize," Sam said as he slid out the wad of papers and unfolded them.

As Sam read the heading aloud he looked in Al's direction whilst Al entered the data into the handlink.

"Croft, Blakely and Brent, Solicitors," Al repeated, the handlink squawked almost immediately with an answer.  "That's the name of Joanna's solicitors Sam!"

"Thought so, a mistake, huh?  This is a letter confirming the sale of the property, namely Sheepbridge House."

Gerald gasped and shakily, he shrank away.  But what Doctor Beckett didn't notice or realize, was that the man wasn't shaking with fear, but with anger as his rage inside began to build in its intensity.

"Hang on Sam, something else is coming through," Al waited for the information as it trickled across the tiny screen.  "As I thought, the rat has sold Joanna's home without her knowledge.  It was in her sole name Sam, bought and paid for, years before she even met this nozzle."

"So… it's a mistake is it?  You've sold this house… Jo—my home from under me?  When were you gonna tell me that I'd have to move out?" Sam asked with a glare of satisfaction.

"I-I hadn't th-thought that f-far ahead," Gerald continued with his subterfuge then grunting, he began to stand.

"Watch him Sam, this animal's capable of anything!" Al forewarned.

Doctor Beckett acknowledged his friend with a single nod of his head.

Even before he was upright, Gerald grasped at Sam's lower legs and forced him to the ground.  Sam lay winded with Gerald's mass atop him, his hot breath belching onto Sam's naked chest.

With one almighty push, Doctor Beckett heaved him away but the brute wasn't about to give in.

Gerald grappled for each of Sam's wrists and held onto them in a vice-like grip.  Tussling and tousled, Sam fought back but Gerald's strength was as inhuman as his irrevocable lunacy.

Doctor Beckett searched every nook and cranny of his subconscious for some small remnant that his host could have left behind.  Anything would do, even the minutest detail would suffice, anything he could use to startle Gerald into losing his concentration, even if it was only for a split second.

Throughout the tussling and jousting, Al shrieked out commands but Sam's concentration was needed elsewhere and so the Admirals advice fell upon deaf ears.

At last and catching Sam's eye, Al yelled out, "Listen to me, will ya?" He was taken aback when Doctor Beckett's eyes rested on him pleadingly.  "That's better, now do I have your full attention, Sam?"

Doctor Beckett nodded slightly, unable to do anything else as the ruffian's forearm pressed against his windpipe.

Al grimaced.  "Ziggy's come up with something new.  Ask him about Carla, Sam!"

Sam's expression, for an instant, changed to puzzlement.

Unconsciously, the Observer's cheek twitched. "There's too much involved and there isn't enough time for me to go into all of the details—just ask butthead here why Carla's grandmother's house is mortgaged to the hilt!" he said without taking a single breath.

"Carla?  Who's Carla?" Sam repeated quietly but it was just loud enough for Gerald to hear.  It was precisely the opening Sam needed to smash his own forearm across Gerald's jaw.

The oaf yowled like a stuck pig before toppling backwards.

"YAYHEY, Sam!" Al danced, both arms raised, stabbing the air in triumph. "Whooohooo!"

"Nahhhggg!" Doctor Beckett followed through, he had barely enough strength left to finish the job and knock out the now catatonic Gerald.

Breathing heavily, Sam leaned on his hands as he bent over the silent but heaving figure. "He's the husband from Hell, Al!"

"You don't have to tell me that." Al said as he warily made his way over to his friend's side but stopped short and looked down at the prone form as a strange gurgling sound came from the ruffian's throat.  "Something's wrong here, Sam!"

Sam was already on it, hoisting Gerald's body onto its side.  "He's choking to death, Al!  But I swear; I didn't hit him that hard!"

"Glass jaw, I've seen it before.  He maybe as strong as an ox but if that's where his frailty lies then you could've knocked him out with a feather.  Not your fault, Sam so don't go sayin' it was."

As Sam rolled him over, his head followed shortly after, and with an immense rush, blood and saliva gushed from his mouth but Gerald's breathing didn't improve any.

"What?" Sam implored.  "There must be something else restricting his airway!"  And so Sam opened his mouth and gingerly felt inside.

Sure enough, there was something, lodged way back against his epiglottis.  Doctor Beckett scooped it out with two fingers but lost his grip amidst the slime and it chinked onto the dusty floor.  Gerald's breathing instantly relieved.

"Da dummy be a gummi!" Al remarked with a snicker when he saw Gerald's tooth slither across the grimy floor.

Sam wasn't in the mood for any of Al's sarcastic remarks but on this occasion even Sam couldn’t suppress a smile. But he did manage to turn it into a frown of disbelief.

"Sorry Sam, couldn't resist that one," Al apologized with an exaggerated grimace.

"I know Al," Sam said sadly, as he wiped his hands on Jerry's grubby and torn shirt.  "I know it's only you being you," he said, equally as sadly but with the tiniest hint of sarcasm. "You can't help it, being the way you are."

Al glared at his friend momentarily but his expression soon changed when the handlink squealed as a reminder.  "Dunno why you're bothering though, Sam," Al said, changing the subject slightly when he read the data on the handlink.  "He's a two-timing, no good bigamist; he's still married but not to you—erm, er—Joanna, though she doesn't know that yet."

"When does she find out, Al?" Sam asked, astonished.

"She doesn't, Sam… you—Joanna, dies in less than two hours," Al said somberly.

"She dies?  How?  He's…" Sam waved a hand over the recumbent Jerry.  "…out cold."

"Drowning…"

"He kills her?" Sam queried, almost stopping dead whilst he mopped up the mess around Gerald's mouth with his shirttail.

"Never proven though, Sam," the Observer retrieved the data from the handlink.  "Joanna's autopsy report says that she slipped and fell in the bathtub and… Sam—get this, it looks as if it's happened before; and the last time he wasn't married to the poor kid either.  This other autopsy report says that Carla died in a car accident.  She lost everything too Sam, man, this guy—sure is a real sleezeball.  He's nothing but a two bit hustler; who feeds on women who have property or a little money, a philanderer."  He egoistically kicked an unwavering foot through Gerald's form.

Something wasn't sitting right; there was also something in Al's tone that wasn't sounding quite as it should be.  "Then, who else is he married to, if it's not Carla or me?"

"Her name is…" the Observer paused whilst the information was fed through.  "…Deborah Peterson, no divorce papers are ever filed but then again he doesn't need to.  Twelve years from now he dies, sclerosis of the liver."

"Figures," Sam said unexcitedly, and satisfied that Gerald was out of danger he stood slowly.  Pacing towards his friend, he turned back.  "Though judging by the way he's bleeding, I doubt he'll last that long.  That's the trouble with alcohol, when abused over time, it destroys the clotting ability of the blood, hence the sclerosis.   Usually the liver can regenerate itself but with alcohol abuse," Sam shook his head, not knowing if it was Joanna's thoughts that were filtering through or his own.  "That ability is no longer factual."

"You don't have to tell me that Sam," Al said sadly.  "Though I doubt I wasn't a fraction as bad as this… nozzle."

Sam raised his brow, "No Al, you weren't but you could have been if you'd carried on," he sighed as he looked at the prone Gerald.  "I think I should phone the police, before…"

"No Sam!" the Observer iterated, making Sam jump half out of his skin.  "You can't do that, that's what Joanna did the last time and…"

"Why not?" Sam asked, confused.

"Ziggy, just gave me the lowdown on the police report.  You're not gonna believe this Sam, they took his word over hers, in fact between them, they ridiculed her and threatened to arrest her for knocking out this noggin's teeth."

"Joanna knocked out his tooth as well?"  Sam was now even more confused.

"Yup," the Observer nodded.  "It seems as though you are repeating history… you haven't changed anything yet, Sam."

Sam's brow creased, he didn't know how to explain it but ever since this Leap had started, he felt as though he wasn't in control.

The Observer raised his eyebrows as Gerald groaned.  "Uh-ho!" Al uttered when he saw that Gerald had begun to stir.  "He's coming to; if I were you, I'd make myself scarce."

"I'll go and take that much needed bath, I think," Sam said as he headed for the stairs.

"Not yet, Sam!" the Observer stipulated.  "You can't do that, that's where, Joanna… erm… you know… er…" Al made a slashing motion across his throat.

Sam turned to face the Observer just as his friend completed the gesture.  "Al, I can always lock the door!"

"You think that'll keep this buffoon out?"

"Maybe you're right but where else?  Al, I don't know where else to go."

"Remember who you are Sam, you're not some helpless female who has to hide in a closet, you're Sam Beckett, right!"

"But you've just told me to get the hell outta here so, ahhh, Al, what is it you want me to do?" Sam slumped his arms down in defeat.

"Okay, okay, it's the natural thing for Joanna to do and as you're her—aw God, this is confusing.  You do what you think is best.  I'll keep lookout here and I'll come and find you if this nozzle does anything out of the ordinary. Ha!" Al laughed.  "As if this creep will ever do anything— ordinary!"

Doctor Beckett glanced down at the now conscious Gerald and sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"If you're goin', do it now, afore this cretin regains all of his senses," Al urged, shooing his friend away. Again, he laughed at his thoughts but didn't add to them.

Sam charged up the stairs, taking them three steps at a time.

"Gorge?" Gerald questioned, slurring and slurping as he sat himself upright and rubbed at his aching chin.  "What happened here, Gorge?"

"As if you don't already know!  You slob, you sad old bucket of lardy bones!" Al growled, keeping a close eye on his every movement.

Gerald stumbled to his feet and blinking, he patted at his mouth.  "What the—hell?" he pause to full up his lungs.

"Wait for it!" Al commented as he watched on and cringed as he waited for the yelling to start.

"GORGE!!" Gerald howled at the top of his lungs.

"All I can say pal, is that I'm glad I'm a hologram, otherwise you'd 'uv been hanging on meat hook in a butcher's freezer by now!"

"I've had another accident Gorge!" he shouted a little more subdued.  "Help me find my tooth, Gorge?  I can't manage without my tooth."  He crouched down and on his hands and knees he crawled about the floor, rummaging amongst the sawdust to find his tooth.  The blood that dribbled from his mouth didn't seem to bother him in the least; he just wiped it away as if it were a common occurrence, undoing the cleaning process that Doctor Beckett had performed.

"There you are, you little bugger," he said as he picked out the slimy tooth from a heap of dust, blowing off most the grime, he pushed it back into its recently vacated socket.

"Sheesh!" Al grimaced as he looked on.  Even the squelching sound it made as Gerald bit down made Al's skin crawl.  "Disgusting!" he finished with a shake of his head.

Looking towards the stairs, Gerald's brow creased and as he turned towards the door, he shrugged, just as if he couldn’t actually remember what had taken place.

"I've seen that look before," Al said unmitigatingly, thinking of his friend upstairs.  "Confusing ain't it, memory loss?  Though I think Sam has a more substantial reason than you do—air brain."

"I'm going to work now, Gorge.  Do I get a kiss goodbye?" he said and paused by the open doorway for a reply.

"What!" Al's eyes widened, and then closed into narrow slits.  "Not on your Nellie, you parasitic, fork tongued, cretin!"

"Ahhh," Gerald sighed and as he wiped at his mouth again he was out of the door.

"What!  You're not gonna clean up first?" Al queried, wincing with revulsion.  "No, I take that back, Sam's upstairs so don't you dare go bothering him.  You hear me?"  Al followed him just to make sure, reappearing on the outer wall, he watched as the inane figure fumbled for his keys to unlock a beige colored van.

Though he knew he shouldn't, the Observer couldn’t suppress a chuckle as Gerald grunted, bending down several times to retrieve the keys before successfully unlocking and opening the van door.  Al suddenly had a thought; the laws in England were much the same where drink driving was concerned, now if he could get the registration details as he drove off then maybe…  As the vehicle kangarooed for fifty yards, he then knew he was right and he memorized the registration before it sped off around the next corner.  With a thrilled shrug, he forwarded the number to Ziggy.

"Is it possible, using that latest gismo installed…" Al asked into the handlink. "…you can keep a lock on that nozzle's position?" he posed to the hybrid computer.  "Damn!" Al cursed when he read Ziggy's reply.  "…but it is ready?  That's great Zig!  Have Stephen meet me with it, pronto!" Al grinned and along with a gleam of satisfaction he raised a fist in victory.  "Gotcha… butthead!"

Breathing heavily, Sam leaned his back onto the now closed bathroom door.  He pressed a hand to his racing heart and breathed in deeply trying desperately to suppress his anxiety. 'What is it with me?' he asked himself as a wave of nausea swept over him.  Quickly, he raced over to the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach.

Sweating profusely he remained still, waiting for the buzzing in his ears to stop.  He could feel the sweat trickling down his back and along his fevered brow, down his nose and cheeks, and dripping into the basin beneath.  All of the time the words 'lock the door, must lock the door,' ran through his confused thoughts.

Shakily, he pushed himself up from his knees but remained for a few more moments leaning, whilst his hands pressed firmly against the bowl to steady himself.  Then finally, when he felt he was ready, he gingerly moved over to the washbasin, turned on the tap and splashed his face and head with cold water.

Through the dribbles of water, the eyes of a frightened rabbit stared back at him, a look that he had seen before, a terrified living thing that had been caught in the bright headlights of an oncoming car ~ nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.

Then it dawned on him, he was hearing Joanna's thoughts and feeling her emotions.  No wonder he felt as he did, wanting to run away—no, get away at every opportune moment.  He realized it now, she was one tough lady but reoccurring events had worn her down, forging a sense of insecurity and breaking down her self-confidence.

"Oh Joanna… you don't deserve this," Sam whispered sadly to the rippling reflection, he then looked up into the mirror and smiling, he reached out a faltering hand towards her.  "I promise… as long as I'm here, he won't lay another finger on you."

The Leaper was so lost in Joanna's thoughts that he didn't hear the Imaging Chamber door open.  "Sam!" the Observer echoed, making Sam almost jump out of his skin.

Doctor Beckett gasped and looked into the mirror.  On seeing no other reflection he abruptly spun around and glared fiercely at the Admiral. "Hell Al, I thought you were him!"

"Sorry, you'll just have to make do with little ol' me," the Observer apologized and stuffed his hands into his pockets.  "But you and Joanna are safe for now, he's gone."

"Gone?" Sam looked about nervously.  "Gone where?"

"To work, apparently," Al shrugged, dismissing his thoughts lightly. His friend would be so pleased when he got around to telling him what it was that he and Ziggy had planned.

"In that condition?"

"Guess so, and Ziggy's keeping a lock on him so that we'll know where he is and when he returns."

"Thank God, Al!" Sam sighed, genuinely relieved.

"So I guess you can take that bath after all." Al waved a hand at the gleaming white bathtub.  He then looked around; everything seemed to be brand new, unused, and even down to the whiteness and glossiness of the floor tiles.

"Thanks Al, I need one after the mauling that degenerate has given me," Sam said and shuddered as he turned on the faucet.  "Take a look at these papers Al," Sam requested, when something reminded him that Al was in charge of the finance and administration at the Project.

"Hmmm, these should make for interesting reading," the Observer mumbled.  He reached a hand into his inside pocket and retrieved a pair of gold-framed spectacles.

Doctor Beckett straightened out the papers on the toilet seat and atop of the cistern whilst the Observer perched his glasses onto the bridge of his nose.

"Look at this one, a bank statement; all the money from the sale of the house has gone into this—Joanna's account— now, why would he do that?  And this one," Sam hurriedly pointed Al attention to a letter regarding the title deeds: "they're now in Barry Holmes' name, one of Gerald's aliases."

Al stooped down and ran his finger close to the long list of numbers.  "There's some hefty withdrawals here Sam and all done by banker draft into another account.  This guy is clever.  Looks to me as if he's making out Joanna has sold the house to this Barry Holmes and Joanna has collected the money.  When all the time… he's sold the house to himself, and is milking off the proceeds.  We need some way we can compare the signatures and that's gonna be hardest part.  We need the details of this other account too.  Is there anything amongst the other letters?"

Sam shook his head.  "There's only these three, like Gerald said, it's mostly junk mail."

"He must keep his papers somewhere Sam," Al said, stroking his chin.  "Is anything of Joanna filtering through?"

"Yeah, some, but nothing to do with this, remember Al, she knows nothing about any of this."

"A check card or credit card, something with Joanna's signature on it?"  Al shook his head even before Sam answered; his friend's vacant expression spoke multitudinous volumes, even when he didn't say a word.  Al knew him so well.

"What?!" Sam asked incredulously, when he saw the Observers iniquitous grin and he immediately knew that Al was dying to tell him something.

"There is something else you can do Sam," Al said as he followed Sam to a cupboard.  "I've gotten his vehicle registration and if you telephone the police, I'm sure they'd lock him up for drunk driving."

"Yeah they might, but wouldn't that just be delaying the inevitable?  He'd probably get a hefty fine and lose his licence.  What after that?  Wouldn't he be madder than hell and take it all out on Joanna?  I can't stay around forever you know," Sam quibbled and strode back to the bathtub.  He added a hefty globule of bubble bath after finding it in one of the cupboards along with a fresh towel, which he hung on a ring next to the bath.

"I thought you'd be pleased but I guess I didn't think of it that way, sorry, Sam," Al fidgeted.

Sam twizzled his hand at Al and the Observe turned his back so that Sam could remove the tinzie garment before stepping into the tub.

"They need to catch him out on a more extensive charge," Sam necessitated as he submerged his aching body into the overly foamy pleasure of its deepness.  "Ahhh… What can Ziggy dig up?"

On hearing Sam's sigh of elation, the Admiral turned to face Sam and produced the advanced version of Stephen's handlink and Sam marvelled at the contraption.  He had a vague memory of its existence but something was telling him that the device wasn't up to scratch.

The Admiral saw his friend's look of consternation and attempted to reassure him immediately.  "It's okay Sam; it's the new improved version, Mark II.  Stephen's completely remodelled it and he's pretty sure that it'll work perfectly now."

"Only pretty sure, huh?  That's very reassuring, Al!" Sam said, disgruntled.

"Where's your oomph, Sam?" the beleaguered Al digressed, looking down at the new handlink and turning it's smoothness around in his hand.

"My!... My oomph as you call it is soaking in this bathtub along with Joanna's self esteem, that's where my oomph is!"

"My, aren't we tetchy!" Al said nonchalantly. 'Three buttons?' the Observer thought when he saw that there had been more buttons added to Stephen's device.

"Why are you tetchy, Al?" Sam said quirkily, then leaned back and proceeded to scrub away the morning's stench.

"Me?  I'm not tetchy," Al said vaguely as he attempted to figure out which of the three buttons to press to summon the infamous Ziggy.  "Oh you mean the 'we' bit?  That was just a figure of speech, Sam; I'm not in the least bit tetchy," he said as cantankerously he buffeted the handlink.  "Which one Sam," Al asked as he thrust the device under Sam's nose.

"What'd ya mean, which one?" Sam asked mystified as to what it was he was looking for.

"Which one, to summon Zig, which button?" Al repeated, getting more irate.

"Which did you use before?" Sam asked with a frown.

"This one I think… or this one, maybe even this one, I don't know there was only one before, dunno what the hell the others do."

Sam raised his brow and looked from the handlink to his friend.  "Didn't you think to ask?"

"I didn't know then that there would be more," Al confessed.

"Al, you're so…"

"Useless!" Al finished.

"Now, I didn't say that, Al!" Sam tossed in.

"Didn't say that you did, that's my contribution, the way I feel when you're thrown into these bad situations and I can't do a damn thing to help," the Observer revealed, his voice full of consternation.

"Why haven't you said anything before?" Sam posed, concerned with his friend's feelings.

"I couldn't, you have enough to contend with, without me burdening you with my little gripes, least I have Beth to alleviate my grievances.  Who do you have, huh?"

"You," Sam countermanded as he reached up for the towel.  "And you know, Al, I wouldn't change that for the world."

Al looked at his friend childishly then turned around to give Sam some privacy.  He wondered how this all could have transpired.  'Surely, Gerald must've made mistakes somewhere along the line, so how come no one had ever spotted it?'  He thought hard.

'How could Gerald possibly profit from buying the house himself?  Even if he was taking the money out of Joanna's bank account, he wasn't gaining anything by it, only breaking even. Though he did now own the property, the only way he could really gain was if he sold it on.'  He was confused.  'Why not sell the property on in the first place?  What was this Gerald really up to?'

Sam began to rub himself down.  "Try the first button and if that doesn't work try the others – I doubt Stephen would put anything in there that would cause a catastrophe."

Al depressed the first in the row of three oblique buttons, the corner of one being on the horizontal to the opposing corner of the other.  'Fancy,' the Admiral mentally noted.  Ziggy's matrix uncoiled into an upside-down umbrella-shaped prism before the full milieu trickled into effect.

As Sam looked over the Admiral's shoulder he couldn't help but blink in wonder as Ziggy's form materialized before his very eyes.

"That's… definitely different," Al commented as he too was awestruck by the hologram's dramatic entrance.

"Good morning, Doctor," Ziggy's dulcet tones infused.

"It's still morning?" Doctor Beckett once again blinked but this time in disbelief.  "I feel as though half a day has gone."

"In your time Doctor, it is seven, thirty-five and twenty-eight seconds, to be precise.  Hmmm, nice pecs Doctor."  Ziggy quipped, her eyes flashed as she cocked her head to one side.

Doctor Beckett coughed shyly and instinctively gift wrapped his torso with the towel, clasping it around his midriff.

"You shouldn't be looking!" the Observer growled at the hologram.

"Hard not to," Ziggy replied, peeking coercively.  "It could be the direction in which you are pointing my matrix, Admiral."

"I thought you didn't possess a sense of humour Ziggy," Sam spurted, slightly embarrassed.

"I am learning, Doctor, after all you did program me to adapt my encoding at every propitious moment."  Again her eyes probed indicatively.

"Time for some clothes I think," Sam said with a hint of trepidation in his voice.  Not wanting to mark the pristine floor, he strategically placed one corner of the towel on the floor before proceeding to step out of the tub.

Before he could remove the plug to drain the water from the bathtub, Doctor Beckett heard a noise outside.  "Al did you hear that?" Sam whispered and proceeded to knot the towel securely about his waist.

"Sure did pal," Al said turning a quizzical gaze towards the door.  "But you're safe for now, right?"

"Heck Al!" Sam gulped as he too quickly swivelled his body full circle toward the entrance.  "I've been so caught up; I don't think I actually got around to locking the damn thing!

"Ziggy?  You could have given me at least four minute's warning!" Sam stressed.

"Ziggy, where is klutz-head?" the Admiral asked the laconic hologram as Sam charged headlong towards the unlocked door.

Halfway there, a startled Sam skidded across the slippery surface and losing traction he skidded the rest of the way awkwardly, sliding feet first en route to an open doorway and a seething Gerald.

"Jerry?" Sam gasped faintly as he looked up into the soured, ruddy face; Gerald's eyes were wide with rage and as bloodshot as the broken vessels on his sagging jowls.

"Thought you were keeping a track of this Rotweiler's location?" the Observer grilled a befuddled Ziggy.

PART FOUR

"I was—am, I do not understand it, Admiral; this person should not be here.  According to…"

"Bitch!" the oaf's voice thundered over Ziggy's.  "I was 'alf way to work afore I found out what you'd done!"

"…he should be five miles away," the hybrid computer concluded.

“Get the hell outta here! You cretinous sack of blubba!” the Observer yelled.

"Press the middle button Admiral!" Ziggy ordered edgily.  The Observer complied with her instructions and Ziggy's image transformed into that of a local map.  A blip flashed out in the upper right quadrant of the projected hologram.  "See, that's where he should be!" Ziggy countered.

The Observer gazed incredulously at the diffused illustration; sure enough the blinking blimp was miles away from their centrifugal position.  "So why's he here?"

Awkwardly, Ziggy fell silent.

Gerald reached down and grabbed roughly at one of Doctor Beckett's wrists and proceeded to haul him along the slickness of the tiled flooring.  Sam struggled continually, trying to find his feet but each time he thought that he'd gained a foothold, the formidable strength of the brute lugged him over yet again.

"S—Sa—am!" the Observer yelled.  "It's happening, and now, Sam!"

As much as Doctor Beckett resisted, Gerald's determination was evermore overwhelming.

"3.9 minutes Admiral," Ziggy's voice hummed so that only the Observer could hear.

"Naaahhhgggg!" Sam grunted as his foot slipped on the accumulated condensation and he landed yet again on his hip, he could feel Joanna's contusions further erupting on his own flesh and he wondered how on earth Joanna could have endured so much for so long.

"Let him go!  You—you turd faced toad!" the Observer snarled.

The harder Doctor Beckett resisted and fought back, the more forceful Gerald grew.  Sam couldn't believe the strength of this brute, he took everything that the Leaper lashed out at him, doggedly avoiding Sam's relentless blows to his face.

Al couldn't believe it either.  "I can't understand it Sam, this nincompoop must be totally impervious to pain!"

"Shaddap, bitch!" Gerald barked as he tugged and twisted on Joanna's arm, dragging her nearer to the bath and in the struggle, black rubber scuff marks spoiled the polished surface of the floor tiles.

"Your only chance is—is if you get to your feet, Sam!" the Admiral empathized iniquitously.  "Whatever you do, you've gotta get to your feet!  Come on Sam, you can do better than this!"

"I'm trying, dammit!" Sam snapped, answering both men.

"Not hard enough!  Now keep your damn mouth shut," Gerald demanded as a hefty steel-toed boot swung through and glanced Joanna sideways across her jaw.

"Arrrrggggghhhhh," Sam cried out in agony.  He instinctively raised his free hand to his chin and dabbed away the blood.  He looked up at his friend and mumbled through his pain, "What did you find out?"

Through his squirming, the Observer shrugged, "Nothin', Beeks can't get through to her and Beth's wondering if Joanna's taken some kind of medication.  She's running some blood tests now."

"That you don't appreciate anything I do for you," Gerald answered Sam and twisted his arm further into his back.

"Ahhh!" Sam groaned but something in his subconscious was triggered by his friend's words and as he looked up to the sniggering Gerald, he asked, "You drugged me!  Why?"

"Only your usual medication, lover, though I did slip in a few extra to that late night drink I made you, considerate ain't I?  Thought you might like a good night's sleep.  But I didn't expect you waking so early.  I had it all planned, right down to the timing and you spoiled it all."

"Morphine, Doctor." Ziggy informed Sam.  "I've just accessed Mrs. Suzman's medical records, she was prescribed morphine but she did have an adverse reaction and so her medication was changed."

"Morphine?"  Sam looked quizzically towards Ziggy.  "But I threw that bottle away last month," Sam said as another of Joanna's filtrations flickered into Doctor Beckett's subliminal memory.

"Sam, get the hell up from there and clobber this joker," infused the Admiral and unawares he clenched his fists tightly, as if this action alone would help his friend overcome the slipperiness of the floor and the daunting strength of his friend's adversary.

"I've enlightened Doctor Calavicci and she's administering a remedy as we speak," the hologram informed.

"So you did," Gerald snarled as he gabbed at Joanna's hair and forced her head back over the edge of the bathtub.

"W-what a-about work?  I-I thought you went to w-work?" Sam asked with difficulty, his back arched and his neck taught and strained against Gerald's relentless tugging.

"That's what you were s'pposed to think, lover.  I took the van into the garage for that tune up you've been nagging me about and Billy met me there—that was all arranged.  And as planned, I asked him to bring me back here, told him I'd some urgent phone calls to make."

"Zig?  Were you tracking the van or this nozzle?" Al asked staunchly.

Ziggy's hologram pirouetted from within the map.  "If the van is the vehicle in question, then yes Admiral, I was tracking the van and not its occupant," she said bluntly and without emotion.

"If I'd 'uv known that, I would've stuck with him myself!" the Admiral shot harshly at the iridescent image.  "Least then I could have warned Sam of this sleezball's arrival."

"And… how was I to know that he would be leaving his vehicle?" Ziggy returned forcefully.  She then pouted ruefully which promptly turned to concern when she saw that Gerald had now taken her father by the scruff of his neck and was forcibly bending him backwards over the bath. "I'm sorry Admiral, but I can't stay and witness such an act," Ziggy apologized tersely.

Al watched on in dismay as the hybrid computer made her impromptu departure.  "Chicken!" he voiced derisively.  "Sam, do something!  Anything!  You just can't let this nozzle get the better of you!"

"Arrrrgggghhhh!" Sam yelled out as his back reluctantly arched beyond endurance.  He was gripping onto the side of the bath with one hand and using all of his strength to stop the savage from dunking his head under the water. "I can't stop slipping!" he cried out when his feet wouldn't stay connected to the floor.

"Imagine my surprise when you chose these tiles for the bathroom, Gorge.  They are exactly as I'd hoped, nice and slippery," Gerald sneered close into Joanna's ear.

"Remind me next time to get carpeting," Sam said light-heartedly, even though the tediousness of the unending frustration was really beginning to annoy him.

Arms and fingers desperately throbbing from the relentless struggle, and the agony from his overly extended spine, Sam just couldn't hang on and his fingers finally lost their grip.

"S-Sa—am!  No Sam!"  He heard Al shout out as the now cooling water sloshed over his head and submerged him beneath the diminishing bubbles.  He felt the top his head bump against the other side of the bath and he could see the bubbles rise as his breath left his lungs.  The foamy water tidal waved over the edge and onto the floor, and the struggle ensued into a frenzied deluge.

Doctor Beckett earned a slight reprieve when Gerald eased off the pressure to straddle Joanna's struggling body to get a firmer grip.

"Now, Sam! Now!"  Doctor Beckett heeded his friend's cries of urgency.

The soggy towel had wrapped itself tightly about his legs, weighting him down and he tussled with it furiously before he could finally free himself.  Looking through the miasma of foamy water, he could barely make out where Gerald was standing but he readied a foot all the same.  He knew he had to do it soon, he couldn't hold his breath much longer.  His lungs were already aching for precious oxygen and felt as though they were about to burst.

Doctor Beckett reached up with his arms and at the same time raised a knee up to his chest.  He then clasped his fingers about Gerald's neck and wrenched him down suddenly.  The air turned blue with profanities as Gerald's squeals were cut short when Sam's knee made contact with the goon's throat.  Water gushed everywhere as the Leaper emerged gasping for breath.

Sam was taken aback, he had intended his aim to reach Gerald's weak spot, his glass jaw, as Al had called it, and now Sam felt a little unnerved when he heard the ogre's breath gurgle beneath the surface.

"Leave him Sam; I'm sure they'd understand it was self-defense," Al said as he watched Sam removed the plug from the bath and the little water that remained flowed freely down the plughole.  "I mean they've only to look at Joanna for the evidence."

"I-I can't do th-that Al," Sam disputed as he looked at the Observer cynically.  Quickly the Leaper removed Gerald's shirt and tore off the sleeves.    "N-not when th-there's a cha-nce of sa-ving h-him."  Sam tied up his hands and feet using the torn remnants and stood back.  Doctor Beckett was panting desperately from his exertions when he hauled Gerald's body over the edge of the bathtub, leaving him to dangle and drain.

Al laughed, "You'd have more of a chance of converting the devil to Christianity."

"Okay… Al… if I—Joanna phones… the police now… what happens?" Sam asked breathlessly as he began to step out of the tub.

"Careful Sam!  That floor is slippery," the Observer commented, unthinking.

Sam lowered his head and guardedly looked up and around at his friend, feeling disparaged and literally taking Al's words as sarcasm.  "Al!  I know the darned floor is slippery.  I've spent the last half-hour slithering around on it."

"25.2 minutes, to be precise Doctor," Ziggy's voice infused as she rematerialized.

"Feels longer!" Sam exacted as he cautiously placed a foot to the floor.  He literally dribbled his way over to the cupboard to obtain another towel and embarked on the task of vigorously rubbing at his hair.  "Well?"

"Gerald Suzman—aka Geoffrey Peterson is…" Al started.

"…is arrested and tried for actual bodily harm, falsifying legal documents along with forgery, embezzlement and identity fraud."  Ziggy contritely cut in.  "But he is only sentenced to a six month term for ABH, with an added term of six months for obtaining credentials illegally and misusing the identity of a deceased person."

Doctor Beckett looked over at the slumped figure and sighed.  "What I can't understand is… why couldn't I tackle this lout?  I mean, I've done it before but this time I felt as though I had the strength of a baby."

"In my absence, I made good use of the time and have been reconciling Mrs. Suzman's hospital records."  Ziggy glanced about the room as though searching for something.  "The possibility could be the fact that you are experiencing more than just her thoughts, Doctor.  I have completed a scan of the whole building and I cannot find Mrs. Suzman's medication anywhere."

"What medication?" the Admiral and Leaper voiced together.

"In 1982, Mrs. Suzman underwent a thyroidectomy and has been prescribed thyroxine ever since," Ziggy entrusted to the two listeners.  "In my assumption and I must add that I do not think that I am wrong: it seems that her so-called husband has been depriving her of all medication but the weakest analgesia."

"Of all the lowdown tricks to play!" the Observer denoted.

Sam virtually ran to the mirror and looked once again at Joanna's image: There as sure as Monday followed Sunday, was the necklace scar on her throat.  Doctor Beckett's face became studious for a few moments.  "That really does explain the weakness and the feeling of inertia but it doesn't explain her weight, she's almost skeletal.  Myxoedemal patients are invariably over weight and…"

"That could be a combination of things Doctor, stress, anxiety, and the inability to eat because of the culmination of both anxiety and stress. From what I have been reading she has a lot to be anxious about."

I'll go with you on that one Zig!" the Admiral admitted.

"The morphine she was prescribed was for an injury she sustained on August 9, her records say that she fell down the stairs but a note in the margin says that: 'the injuries were inconsistent with a fall, chronic distortion of all but one of the five lumbar vertebrae.  An indication that a heavy implement, such as a foot or other such force was responsible.  The patient insists that she fell down stairs but that insistence is in the presence of her partner who refused to leave his wife and became violent when asked to do so.'" Ziggy finished and watched the two men in her presence.

The Admiral started up on his usual pacing routine, whilst Doctor Beckett wiped a shaking hand over his face.  "So that's how come she couldn't fight back," Sam stated as he pressed his hand into the small of his aching and bruised back.  "Drugged up to the eyes and that back breaking incident over the bathtub must've exacerbated her injuries furth…"

The Observer cut in, "Lucky for Joanna, that you took the brunt of that last attack."

"She's a very lucky young lady," Ziggy notated.

"I agree there Sam although Joanna doesn't get her home back Sam, but at least she's still alive and that butthead nozzle is outta the picture.  He doesn't get convicted and stopped for embezzlement though—the legal beagles can't even untangle the web he's woven and Joanna can't prove anything either.  It can never be determined that he's forged all of those documents, he gets away with it Sam!" the Observer asserted, almost in one breath and as he paused to pant, he gasped inwardly.  "Get ready to leap, you're outta here, Sam!" the Observer enthused. 

Sam stood and waited expectantly, poised ready for the familiar tingle to envelop him and whisk him away to his next assignment.

Al looked at him assiduously.  And still Doctor Beckett waited.  "Al?  Nothing's happening!" Sam shrugged and made his way to the open door.  "Maybe I should get dressed, the least I can do is to make this body presentable for Joanna's return," he said with a smile of frustration.

"The fact that you are not Leaping, Doctor, could be because it is you that has uncovered the deceit that this Gerald person has been involved with.  In my hypothesis, it is more than likely that you need to be at the Court hearing to prevent Gerald's circumvention of the British legal system."

The Admiral's brow tweaked.  "It's not like you to play guessing games Zig, what's with the assumptions?"

Ziggy didn't answer.

Sam paused in his distraction.  "That could take months, or even years!" he exacerbated his dilemma.  "I can't hang around for that length of time!"

"You're exaggerating Sam; surely it can't take that long, can it?"  The Observer pursued Sam as he started out of the bathroom.

"It is true; the British legal system is indeed slow." Ziggy iterated.  "It is tied up with red tape and bureaucracy.  It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the trial date isn't set for another three years."

"Hang on Ziggy; answer me this time, will ya?" the Observer rubbed a stubby hand across his mouth.  "Why are you talking speculation here?"

"Filling in time Admiral," Ziggy's mouth mimicked an impatient whistle.  "It takes an absolute age to download the necessary data.  As I told you before Admiral, British technology is antiquated compared to ours plus the fact that I'm having difficulties integrating."

Sam listened, as patiently as ever as he limped slowly through the game room, he knew better than to interrupt the two holograms when they were in direct confrontation and he started to ponder to fill in his time.

 'In all of my long years of Leaping, have I once known of a time when either of them would back down?  No!  Usually, Al remains resolute and Ziggy clams up in a huff and refuses to negotiate further.  But what of this new Ziggy?  She is definitely experimenting with her newfound personage, is she also conducting experimenting with her fresh new feelings?  She had certainly indicated on that possibility earlier.'

Doctor Beckett halted briefly as he abandoned his deliberation before opening the door to the 'animal' room and prepared himself for the expected humidity change.

"Have you received that information yet?" the Leaper heard his friend say.

"It is—sizzle—fizzle—spitz—

"coming—hiss—sizzle—spitz—

"through now Ad—m—ir—Al," Ziggy's voice sounded like it was losing momentum.

"What is it Zig?  You sound like an old gramophone that needs winding up," the Admiral supplicated.

Doctor Beckett looked back and saw Ziggy's wavering image hovering unsteadily above the handlink.

"Do—not—know—I—am—lo—osing—po—ow—er," her voice drawled lethargically.

"Al what's happening?!" Sam looked between his friend and the rapidly flickering particles that made up Ziggy's image.

"I wa—splutter—

"about—sizzle—

"o ask you—crackle—

"same—spit—

"thing."  The Observer’s hologram buzzed in and out of view.

"Al, is something wrong at the project?" Sam asked anxiously as he felt an unfamiliar prickle of what he assumed was the beginnings of a new and very different Leap.  But he wasn't sure if what was happening at the project was affecting him in the same way.

"I—splutter—

 "smell some—sizzle—

 "trange—spit—

 "getting very hot—crackle—

 "here, Sam!"

"Al!" Sam shouted out to his friend who somehow looked to be getting further and further away.  "I'm feeling something too and I don't think that I'm Leaping.  Is something happening at the project, Al?"

"I—splutter—

"hardly hear—fizzle—

"Sam!  There's so much noise—fizzle—

"smoke—crackle—

"don't know if—hiss—

"can stay—sizzle—

"longer, can—crackle—

"hardly breathe—spit—."

Sam combated away the Leap only to see his friend fade away into oblivion.

"Al?" he spoke out to the empty space where his friend had once existed.  In his mind's eye, he could see him still standing there, slapping his hand into the uncooperative handlink with that quintessential expression on his face.

Fighting back the prickle that continued its incessant and escalating engulfment, he awaited Al's return.  He didn't know how long he waited; the time seemed to be interminable until he could no longer suppress the tugging.

"Noooo, you can't take me away.  What about Al and besides, I'm not finished here!" he screamed gritting his teeth in frustration.

Finally, the incarcerating draw overwhelmed his need to stay and his surroundings were obliterated in a blast of dark obscurity.

Stallion's Gate, New Mexico

June 6, 2005: 11:03am

Pitch back.

Choking, fetid blackness.

A hot, dusty gust of wind tousled his hair and drove dirt particles into his eyes, causing his eyeballs to sting and his nostril burn.  Doctor Beckett turned his back into the breeze and he blinked copiously to cleanse his smarting eyes.  Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and he coughed uncontrollably.  When the flurrying breeze changed direction, Sam also changed his, optimally keeping his back into the wind.  As his eyes cleared so did the space around him, now just a grey, dusty cloud and as he remained, the clearer the air became.  Sam wiped at his eyes and a dirt streaked face gazed heavenward.

"Where on earth have you landed me this time?" he asked, tuning around beneath the grey clouds of dust but there came no reply.  As he lowered his gaze, a plume of black smoke spiraled upward and a sense of dread encased his chest in an iron grip.  He gasped inwardly but his breath had no room to expand.  His restricted lungs halted his breath in an instant.

A pile of unrecognizable smoldering rubble lay stretched out before him and as he looked into the distance it seemed to go on for miles.  The air was now still, not even the slightest breeze.  Silence was all around him except for the crackling of burning timber.

Doctor Beckett whirled around as something to his right exploded.  Then he saw it, the only durable section of the building that had remained standing.  Sam recognized it immediately.  On impulse, he fell to his knees.  What he was seeing was the ravaged ruins of the East Tower of his beloved Project: Quantum Leap.

He was totally stunned and he gulped brusquely, "Oh boy!"

TO BE CONTINUED