PROLOGUE
Portland,
Oregon
November
12, 1989
Immediately upon leaping into his new host, Sam felt woozy
and dizzy. This was not a terrible surprise; the leaping process
often caused a myriad of physical effects of some kind to happen to
poor Sam. He knew he should just hold on and ride the wave out; very
often it took just a couple of minutes for everything to become
clear again. So he waited, hoping the time would pass soon.
Sam’s world was
moving; everything seemed to be a blur. He couldn’t see clearly at
all. Yet he could make out that he was in a dining room of a small
house or maybe apartment. It was sparsely decorated with furniture,
a table and two barstools. A big man stood in the kitchen and was
frantically waving some sort of blue blur at the ceiling. Sam did
not immediately understand what the big man was doing or why.
The world kept moving quickly. Suddenly, Sam worried that he
was caught up in an earthquake. Somewhere in the recesses of his
Swiss-cheesed brain, Sam remembered a few basic survival skills. He
dropped to the floor and rolled under the table. He covered his head
with both his hands and arms, determined to wait out the earthquake.
Yet something was not quite right; the floor was not shaking,
swaying or moving at all. In fact, Sam could not verify that he had
ever felt it move.
Sam
lifted his head out of the shelter of his hands and arms and looked
around quickly. Nothing seemed to be moving except for the big man
in the kitchen who was frantically waving a blue towel at a fire
alarm on the ceiling. Faintly, Sam could make out the dinging sound
of the alarm. His hands shot to his ears to cover them. A searing
pain shot through his head – well, his whole body really,
centering inside his head. The pain reminded Sam of the time when
the dentist had begun to drill without enough Novocain being
administered. Tears were streaming down from his eyes.
The
pain was so intense that Sam began rocking back and forth.
Strangely, that helped a little, but the pain was still incredible.
His eyes were squinted closed, so tight that he saw a collection of
white dots bounce against a dark background. What could make the
pain go away? Sam was getting desperate. Wouldn’t this pain ever
stop? In his rocking
motion, Sam accidentally hit his head against the leg of the table
he was under. That had helped. In fact, that had helped a lot. He
hit his head again and again. Then, realizing that he could get at a
broader surface that he imagined would be even better, he began to
hit his head on the underside of the table.
The
pain began to subside at last. The more Sam continued to hit his
head against the table, the better he felt. A wave of euphoria was
slowly replacing the pain. Sam pounded away at the table with his
head.
Sam
had no idea how much time had passed. None whatsoever. Yet he felt
something come in between his head and the table.
Slowly,
Sam unclenched his eyes and the wave of euphoria was sliding away.
Sam tried hurtling his head harder and faster into the table to stem
the receding tide of euphoria to no avail. Whatever was between his
head and the table was cushioning the blow to the point that the
euphoria was dissipating.
Sam
opened his eyes to see the big man kneeling next to him under the
table, holding a pillow between Sam’s head and the table’s
underside. Sam took a swipe at knocking away the pillow, but the big
man was too strong, his arms too big, and his grip on the pillow too
powerful.
“Nicholas,
it’s all right. It’s all right. Listen, the sound is gone.
Listen, the sound is gone.” The big man was very animated as he
spoke to Sam using his free hand and arm to make a different gesture
with every word he said. Sam tried to listen but found he could not
concentrate past two or three seconds. The sound did appear to be
gone as was the searing pain in his head.
Yet
the world seemed to sway back and forth.
Sam
felt the pressure of two hands being placed on his shoulders. He
didn’t like the touch and immediately bristled at it straightening
out like a board, which stopped his rocking back and forth, and the
world stopped swaying.
“Why
don’t you come out of there, buddy?” said the big man as he
showed Sam how to crawl out from under the table. Hesitantly, Sam
followed, mimicking the big man in every way.
“Go
sit on the couch,” the big man said, making a grand gesture with
his arms to show Sam the direction he needed to go. Sam crawled in
that direction.
“You
can stand up now Nicholas, if you want to?” the big man said as he
stood up himself and walked into the kitchen.
Sam
picked himself up off the floor and walked gingerly to the couch.
Methodically, he dropped down into it. The couch was big and fluffy,
and Sam immediately felt good in all the places that the couch
touched him. He moved to the corner of the couch so his one side
could be touched by it too.
The
big man came back with two glasses of ice-cold water that he placed
on the wooden coffee table. “Here buddy, this will make you feel
better.” In the corner of the dining/family room, the big man
picked up a beanbag chair and placed it carefully onto Sam. It felt
great – really great.
“Time
to play hot dog!” the big man said with a smile and rolled the
beanbag chair across Sam’s exposed body. Again, Sam did not know
how long this actually lasted, but it could have lasted forever,
because it felt so good.
The
big man left after some time and went back into the kitchen and got
a bowl of popcorn. “Well, there is some left. I removed all the
burnt pieces.” He placed the bowl of popcorn in the middle of the
coffee table. The beanbag chair covered Sam so that only his head
was exposed. He really wanted some popcorn yet didn’t want to move
to reach any. Yet after a while, the smell was too intoxicating, and
a hand snaked out from under the beanbag chair to get at the
popcorn. The big man brought the bowl right next to Sam’s hand,
and Sam reached in and got a fistful.
The
big man made sure that the beanbag chair stayed on Sam and didn’t
slip off as he was reaching his fist to his mouth. Sam crunched down
on the popcorn, listening intently to the sound the popcorn made as
it was crunched in between his teeth. Fascinating!
“How
do you feel, Nicholas?” the big man said. Sam’s mind didn’t
register the question immediately; it heard the words but was too
preoccupied with the sound of crunching popcorn. Sam’s eyes
wandered everywhere, not focusing on any one thing for longer than
five to ten seconds.
A
hand came to Sam’s chin directing his head and vision to where he
was looking directly at the big man.
“How
are you feeling, Nicholas?” the big man asked very slowly.
Sam
smiled, wanting to acknowledge the consideration of this man and
that he felt good. Sam opened his mouth to speak. “French
Toast.”
“Really?”
the big man asked with a smile.
“French
toast,” Sam replied back with a smile, with visions passing
through his head of every time he had ever eaten French toast back
on his boyhood farm in Indiana.
As
the vision finally came to an end, he realized that the big man was
talking to him again. “That’s great, buddy.”
Sam
looked at the big man and smiled. Loudly in his head, he could hear
his own thoughts saying, ‘OH
BOY.’
PART
ONE
Calavicci
Quarters
Project
Quantum Leap
Stallion’s
Gate, New Mexico
Admiral
Calavicci reclined in his favorite chair in his den, a half-smoked
cigar in one hand and an empty brandy snifter in the other. His tie
and collar were undone and his posture slouched as he stretched his
legs as far as he could and kicked off his shoes. This had been one
of those days that he dreaded, taken up by meetings with people who
wanted to cut back funding for Quantum Leap or cut it all together.
There always seemed to be a crisis on the horizon. Again, he battled
impassioned today in front of all the top brass.
Again, he had laid it all on the line for his friend stuck in
time. And again, he had gotten another reprieve, but it had taken a
lot out of the Admiral. Depressing thoughts entered his mind, such
as, what if one time (and it would only take once) his impassioned
pleas for continued money didn’t work. What would happen to the
Project? What would happen to Sam?
Resting
his head back, the admiral closed his eyes and tried to focus solely
on one happy thought. The thought came immediately: Elizabeth. God,
he loved his wife. And then like a wish come true, he heard her.
“Hey
Al, I thought I heard you come in.” Beth’s voice came from his
left in the direction of the door. Al opened his eyes and spun his
chair around to face her, dropping the snifter on to the floor upon
glimpsing her. His wife stood before him wearing a white button down
the front shirt, with a pleaded striped miniskirt that showed off
gorgeously her long, smooth legs. Al hurriedly put down his cigar
before he burned himself.
“Do
you remember the last time I wore this kind of outfit?” Beth said
in a very smooth voice and wicked smile.
“Oh,
yeah. Right after I got my first commission,” Al said, a huge
smile making its way on his face.
“Do
you remember how we celebrated afterwards?” she said, making as
wholesome and innocent an expression as she could.
Al
smiled back at her, stood up and took a step to her, his arms
parting to embrace his love when…
“Admiral,
Dr. Beeks would like to speak with you,” the disembodied female
voice of Ziggy announced.
Al
rolled his eyes at the intrusion. But before he could speak, his
wife did.
“Ziggy,
I am right in the middle of trying to seduce my husband, can this
wait?” she asked in a voice that had just a hint of agitation in
it.
“I
am sorry to interrupt your nocturnal pleasures, but Dr. Beeks is
quite insistent and needs the Admiral on what she assures to be a
most urgent matter,” Ziggy said in a haughty tone.
Al
simply looked at his wife and gave out a large sigh. “I’m sorry,
my love.” Beth reached out a hand and patted him on his chest.
He
leaned over and pecked her on the forehead. “I will make it up to
you,” he whispered.
“You’d
better,” she whispered back with an understanding smile.
Reluctantly,
Admiral Calavicci headed for his front door to make the walk to the
north wing and the Quantum Leap Project. However, he walked with a
smile. God, he loved his wife because of the little things she did.
He hoped this would be quick and picked up his pace down the
hallway.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Dr. Verbena Beeks paced nervously just outside of the door of
the Waiting Room. She held a clipboard in one hand and twirled a pen
in the other. She was dressed conservatively; she had just changed
into gym clothes, planning on going for a run at the end of her day,
when she found out that Sam had leaped and there was someone new in
the Waiting Room.
She had not bothered to
change but rushed straight over. She never wanted to leave anyone in
the Waiting Room for too long. It was too disorienting to them. The
room was a bit sterile and could be quite intimidating for someone
who suddenly found them self there. She had been arguing for years
to change it to some nice warm earth tones: make the room more
soothing and the leapee would become more soothed. It seemed such an
easy concept, but when it came to the government and getting money
for such a conversion, nothing ever came easy or at all.
Where was Al? How long
did it take him to get here? There was one pretty scared little boy
in there. She needed help to calm him.
Al burst in through the
door on the opposite side of the room.
“Let’s make this
quick, ’Bena,” Al announced, more than a little eager to get
back to his quarters. He had straightened his collar and redone his
tie – force of habit, really. You never looked disheveled in front
of the troops. He was the leader no matter what.
She thrust the clipboard
into his stomach as soon as he was close enough and handed him a
pen. “Sign here. Here. And here. Then initial there and again on
page seven.”
“What is all this?”
Al asked as he sifted through the pages.
“Authorization
forms,” she repeated quickly.
“For what?” Al
asked, wondering just what this was as he looked at high-level
clearance forms.
“A specialist. For our
leapee,” she replied.
“What’s wrong?” Al
asked as the warning alarms all went off in his mind.
“The leapee in there
is an eight-year-old special-needs child. He is an autistic boy
named Nicholas,” Dr. Beeks said as she wringed out her hands after
handing Al everything she had been holding to keep them busy.
“I don’t know
anything about autism,” Al said.
“And I don’t know
near enough. So you and I have to get a crash course and someone
here who can make out what that little boy is trying to tell me. I
didn’t understand a word,” Dr. Beeks said, deeply concerned.
“I’ve already been in contact with them and they are willing to
come on short notice.”
“Is that what this
requisition for a helicopter is for?” Al questioned.
“Exactly; to get ’em
here quick. It can be in the air 10 minutes after you sign that.”
She pointed to the paper that the admiral was staring at.
With another large sigh,
he signed all the documents. So much for this being quick.
PART
TWO
Nicholas’s
apartment
Portland,
Oregon
Moments
later, Al walked into the Imaging Chamber with nothing more than the
date where Sam was and that he was in an eight-year-old boy named
Nicholas.
‘Sam
was not going to like this,’ Al thought, as he stepped into a
small, sparse apartment very neat and tidy.
Sam sat next to the
boy’s father, Al assumed, on the couch eating popcorn and drinking
glasses of water.
Sam had no reaction upon
hearing the all-too-familiar whooshing sound of the Imaging Chamber
door opening, but the light that he saw as Al walked out was nearly
blinding. Instinctively, his hands flew up to his eyes to cover them
from the brightness of the light. Unconsciously, Sam let out a small
whining sound. The big man shot him a glance.
“Is it too bright in
here, buddy?” he said, not looking at him for an answer and
standing up halfway through his question to go pull the shades on
the window.
At about the same time
the Chamber doors closed, the big man had drawn the shades and
Nicholas pulled his hands down from his eyes.
“Better?” the big
man asked.
Sam did not respond but
wanted to. He was having an awful time trying to focus. As quick as
the idea came to say he was better, it had left his head as another
thought intruded. Who was the man dressed in white? And then another
thought came. Again it went away, crowded out by yet another
thought, and then the man in white spoke.
“Sam, I am afraid we
don’t know much. You’re in a young boy named Nicholas and he is
autistic. It’s November, 1989, and you’re in Portland,
Oregon.” Al walked over to the wall and stuck his head through it.
“And it’s raining; pretty typical for here. They get over 200
days of rain a year. Pretty different from the desert, isn’t
it?” Al said with a smile.
Sam stared at the man in
white as he put his head into the wall. Suddenly this became the
funniest thing he had ever seen in his life. Sam burst out laughing
to the surprise of both Al and the big man.
Sam laughed and laughed,
nearly falling into a fit of hysteria.
“Sam?” Al reacted in
shock.
“Buddy, what’s so
funny?” the big man asked, smiling.
Sam pointed at Al.
“Man in white. No head. French Toast.” And Sam burst into
another stretch of laughter.
“Sam!” Al said,
shocked that Sam had just pointed him out.
The big man looked
around the apartment and stared hard at the place his son had just
pointed out to him. He wondered what had triggered that, knowing it
could have very easily been something his son had seen hours or even
days ago somewhere else entirely.
His father just shook
his head. “I wish I was in on it. It must be a real humdinger.”
He tasseled the boy’s hair and began gathering up the dirty
dishes. Before he left for the kitchen, he put himself in the direct
line of sight of his son’s far-off gaze. “Nicholas, I am going
to go and wash up these dishes. It is okay for you to sit there
while I do that, or you can do puzzles.” He pantomimed every
action as he spoke. He picked up the dirty dishes and went to the
kitchen.
“Oh good, we have a
moment,” Al began, yet Sam seemed to ignore him like he was just
another piece of furniture. “Have you been able to find out
anything here?”
Sam
stared as much as he could at Al, focusing on the middle of his suit
and all the pretty gold buttons. Sam bet they felt cold. He tried to
reach for them, but his hand kept missing as it passed straight
through the hologram.
“Sam, what are you
doing? Sam, what are you doing?” Al said as he backed up away from
Sam. Yet as he backed up, Sam kept trying to get closer to him,
reaching for him.
“Sam, stop fooling
around. We have got to figure out why you are here. And we can’t
do that before we know who everyone is,” Al said. Sam kept coming
forward, and the thought of butterflies came to his mind. It was a
very pleasant and calming thought that made Sam smile.
“Lofty, can he hear
me? Is this thing working? Lofty!” Al yelled as he beat on the
handlink.
Sam smiled as he watched
the gold buttons float in the air, which reminded him of chasing
butterflies, which went on to remind him of Winnie the Pooh who was
always chasing butterflies.
The big man came out of
the kitchen, his hands dripping wet.
“What cha’ doing,
buddy?” he asked.
“Pooh,” Sam happily
responded.
Nicholas’s father
simply nodded. Nicholas looked like he was having a good time. He
didn’t think he could hurt himself.
“Okay buddy, I will be
done in just a few minutes. Then
it’s going to be bath time, books, and bed.”
“Willow?” Sam
stopped and asked.
“Sure buddy. I’ll
read you Think of Something Happy Before You Go to Sleep.”
“Willow. Willow,”
Sam repeated. ‘What was
going on here?’ Sam could not control his thoughts at all.
There were so many things he wanted to ask Al but couldn’t. How
was he ever going to get through this leap?
Nicholas’s father went
back into the kitchen to finish the dishes.
Sam got control enough
to stop chasing Al’s gold buttons.
‘Focus,
focus, focus, focus,’ Sam chanted in his head as he tried to
concentrate on Al.
Al was confused beyond
belief. Sam had yet to acknowledge him here. And with so little
information, he needed Sam more than ever to help him piece enough
together to get Ziggy to start running some contingencies.
“Sam, can you hear
me?” Al asked as he looked down at Sam.
“Al,” Sam replied
quietly.
“Good, Sam, good. Yes,
it’s me. Can you tell me anything?” Al asked.
“Al,” Sam replied.
He felt so frustrated he couldn’t get the words out.
He wanted to tell Al this, but he couldn’t. It was so hard
to focus, to keep his vision on Al, and he couldn’t look him in
the eyes for some reason – it hurt. Not like the alarm had, but
his eyes stung when he looked at Al. So again, he tried to focus on
his shirt.
Sam’s
mouth went open and shut, open and shut. He looked like a bass. Al
could see his best friend struggle to talk to him, but something was
preventing him. He could read the frustration in his eyes.
“It’s
okay, Sam. It’s okay. I am going to look around and see what I can
find out,” Al replied and began to gaze around the apartment. On a
table near the front door was a wallet. “Perfect. Sam, come over
here and flip open this wallet. Sam. Yoo-hoo. Sam,” Al said. Sam
had wandered off to the middle of the room to pull out a puzzle from
the closet. Sam looked over at Al.
“Sam,
wallet.”
Sam slowly walked over
to the table and touched the wallet; it didn’t feel prickly or
soft. It felt rougher; the feeling wasn’t so bad though. Sam
opened the wallet.
“There’s his
license, Sam. Pull that out. Pull it out far enough so I can read
it,” Al encouraged Sam, as he reached into the wallet and pulled
at the small plastic card that the hologram was pointing to. Sam
didn’t like the smooth plastic feel of the card and dropped it
instantly. Luckily for Al, it landed face-up on the ground.
“Hot,” Sam said,
placing three of his fingers into his mouth.
Al read the license.
“David Busak, 35. Well, I guess that must make you Nicholas Busak.”
He typed in the address on the license and the license number into
the handlink, which sent if off straight to Ziggy.
“Okay Sam, this is
enough to get us started. I
promise to be back soon.” With that, Al punched a couple of colors
on the handlink that activated the Chamber door. Sam’s hands flew
to his face to cover his eyes. He let out a small scream. The light
hurt him. David Busak rushed from the kitchen to see his son
covering his eyes. The chamber door shut.
“What’s wrong,
son?” he asked concerned.
“Man in white walk
white light,” Sam said, the words making perfect sense to him.
Nicholas’s father just
shook his head, a tear rolling down his face. “Oh buddy, I wish I
knew what you were trying to tell me.”
PART
THREE
Control
Room
Project
Quantum Leap
Al stepped out of the Imaging Chamber feeling frustrated. He
had not been able to talk to Sam whatsoever. And Sam seemed to be
genuinely trying to communicate with him, but still he had not been
able to understand him. What was he to do?
“When will the
specialist be here?” Al questioned Dom.
“They’re on their
way, Admiral. Within the next half hour or so,” Dom replied.
“I'm heading into the
Waiting Room,” Al announced.
“Do you think that’s
wise, Admiral?” Dom asked the Admiral.
“What do you mean?”
Al responded.
“Dr. Beeks is already
in there; too many people may scare the visitor,” Dom replied.
Al rubbed his chin as he
thought about it. “I’ll just peek my head in and see how it's
going,” he said as he strolled over to the Waiting Room.
Looking into the Waiting
Room, Al saw a sight he had never seen before. Dr. Beeks sat in a
chair, her clipboard in her lap, a tape recorder next to her, and
Nicholas was against the wall doing a handstand.
He fell to the ground
when Al walked in. Dr. Beeks, still dressed in her gym clothes,
snapped her thumb down on a stopwatch she had in her hand.
“I always wanted to do
that. Hi there,” the boy in Sam's aura said to Al as he stood up
and began bouncing on the front of his feet.
“Did I make it? Did I do it for five minutes?” Nicholas
asked excitedly.
Verbena looked at her
stopwatch. “Six minutes and 37 seconds.”
“Wow, that must be
some sort of record, right?” Nicholas said very excitedly.
“That was wonderful,
Nicholas,” Verbena said, putting down her stopwatch and clapping.
Nicholas took a small bow.
“When can I leave this
room and go out and play?” Nicholas asked eagerly as he bounced up
and down.
“Nicholas, this is
Al,” Dr. Beeks said, avoiding the question.
Al nodded and stuck out
his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Nicholas looked down at Al’s
hand for a long time before taking both his hands and rubbing them
against his pants. After an awkward moment, Al placed his arm back
down to his side.
“Nicholas, are you
hungry? Can I get you anything?” Verbena asked.
Nicholas’s eyes grew
wide. “Can I eat anything I want?” he asked.
“As long as we have it
in the cafeteria,” Verbena said.
“Can I get a
hamburger– no, a cheeseburger with fries,” Nicholas said, barely
containing his glee.
“I’m sure we can get
that for you,” Verbena said. Nicholas’s smile simply glowed upon
hearing that. “I will be right back with that.”
“Okay,” Nicholas
said as he readied himself for another handstand.
Dr. Beeks gripped Al by
the upper arm and dragged him out of the Waiting Room with her.
Once the soundproof door
shut behind her, Al spoke. “I was going to ask him a few
questions,” he said, taking some offense that he was pulled from
the room without being asked first.
“I know, I didn’t
want you to,” she said matter-of-factly. “I think it would
confuse him even more.”
“It doesn’t seem
that there is much wrong with him. I think we can get a lot of
information out of him about Sam’s situation,” Al said.
“I know; that is what
concerns me so,” Verbena said. “He is showing almost no signs of
autism there in the Waiting Room.”
“Isn’t that good?”
Al said, a bit confused by where this was going. Beeks walked a
steady pace to the Control Room.
“Yes, absolutely, for
Nicholas. Not for Sam. If Nicholas is not showing any signs, then
Sam must be showing them,” Verbena said.
Al nodded, understanding
now.
“So why is that?” Al
asked. Verbena was already shaking her head before he completed his
question.
“Did you get some
information out of him?” Dom asked when they entered. Verbena
handed over her clipboard. “Thanks,” replied Dom as he quickly
began to type in the information straight into Ziggy’s database.
“So what information
did you get?” Al asked.
“Admiral, Dr. Beeks,
your specialist is here and being shown to the north conference
room.”
“Thank you, Ziggy. We
are on our way,” Al responded to Ziggy’s curt voice. “Tell me
on the way.”
Al and Verbena walked
out of the Control Room and headed down the hallway to the
conference center. They both walked a brisk pace down the hallway.
Both were eager to hear from the specialist.
“David Busak and his
wife Karen Wilkes are divorced,” Verbena began.
Al picked up on that
quickly. “So is Sam here to get them back together?” he said
rhetorically.
Dr. Beeks began to shake
her head, although this did not dissuade Al from continuing on.
“Ziggy, what is the
chance that…” Al started before Ziggy interrupted.
“27.6%, Admiral. I
overheard your talk and ran the probability,” Ziggy said.
“Why so low?” Al
asked disappointed.
“Al, 90% of couples
divorce if they have a child with special needs. The challenges of
raising that kind of child are often extreme. The couple lose
themselves in those challenges. They live lives of high stress and
usually are unable to get a break from their child since there is
usually not someone else to take care of the child. Hard feelings of
guilt and blame riddle these poor people and most begin fighting
with each other. Even if Sam could bring this couple back together
again, the chances are they would never stay together. The stresses
would all come back, because the situation would not change.”
“So is his mother in
the picture?” Al asked.
“Yes, their current
arrangement is one week on and one week off,” Verbena replied.
“So tell me about this
specialist?” asked Al, wishing he had a notepad and pen to make
some notes.
“Her name is Temple
Grandin. She has two doctorates: one in animal husbandry and the
other in cattle engineering,” Verbena said, as if this was the
most logical thing in the world.
“What?” Al asked,
hearing what he thought was absolutely absurd.
“She’s autistic. She
has written many books on growing up and being autistic. She is the
foremost expert in the field. Most autistic people have a natural
interest – almost obsession, really – in one particular area.
Hers happens to be cows.”
“Oh this should be
interesting,” Al said somewhat skeptically as they arrived at the
North Conference room.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Entering
the conference room, Al was struck at how odd Ms. Grandin appeared.
Her clothes were wrinkled and badly clashed, her hair was messed up,
and her glasses lay crooked on her face. When they entered the room,
she stared completely at the table, never looking up. She would
remain in this pose; nearly stiff as a board for the entire time she
remained in the conference center.
After
introductions were made, Dr. Beeks led off the conversation. She and
Al took turns updating her on the situation with Dr. Samuel Beckett
and a general overview of Project Quantum Leap. Ms. Grandin, for her
part, listened with incredible intensity, and although Al could see
her face quite clearly, she never once glanced up at him. She did
shudder involuntarily, he thought, at a few things that were said,
especially when they described how Dr. Beckett came to possess
another human body other than his own. This, Al seemed to think,
caused her great concern or great discomfort. He thought it was more
the latter.
“Autism
affects the brain. Autism is a mystery. It is a puzzle. There is no
cure and no one knows how people get it. Most of the time, the body
has large amounts of mercury, lead, or other minerals.
It is believed that this plays a part in autism. There is a
genetic factor that is also involved, although there is no gene
identified as the culprit. There is certainly heredity involved, for
if an autistic person has a child, odds are near 80% that that child
will be autistic. It affects boys much more than girls to a factor
of 9 to 1,” Temple Grandin poured out in small clipped tones,
answering a question that was not asked.
“How
does it affect the brain?” Verbena asked, pressing her face to the
table to try to catch her eyes. Ms. Grandin bent her head down and
stared even harder at the grains of the oak table.
“Autistic
people cannot look a person in the eye. It hurts,” she said. Al
noticed that she didn’t refer to herself, although she was clearly
talking about herself.
Verbena
sat up straight in her chair.
“It
is like mercury poisoning,” Temple said in a clipped tone. “Al,
that’s it,” Verbena turned to Al and said.
“What’s
it?” Al asked not really listening so much as watching this
fascinating woman that sat across from him.
“That’s
what’s happening to Sam,” Verbena said excitedly.
“I
don’t get it,” Al returned quite earnestly.
“The
two of them have clearly magnafluxed to the point that Sam is
retaining Nicholas’s brain impulses and Nicholas is retaining
Sam’s. So Sam must now struggle with a brain that is acting like
it is poisoned.”
Al’s
thoughts instantly jumped to Jimmy, one of his favorite people that
Sam had leaped into.
“We’ve
seen something like this before,” he said out loud.
“Yes.
Wow, it must be so liberating to Nicholas. This is the first time in
his life where he has had a clean body and mind to be in.” Verbena
sat back, her face revealing a growing concern in her mind.
Al
smiled as he thought back to Nicholas doing the handstands.
“Why
can’t I communicate with Sam?” Al asked the most important
question in his mind.
“The
part of the brain most affected through autism is that of the
communication centers. It is very possible he is incapable of
speaking,” Temple Grandin explained.
“No.
I hear him speak. He can speak. I don’t understand what he is
saying, but he is speaking,” Al stated.
“He
speaks in associations,” Ms. Grandin replied. “He referred to
French Toast as an answer. In his mind, French toast means
happiness. He was happy the last time he had French toast. And so he
has made that association as a state of mind. When I was a child, I
used to rub chocolate pudding all over my face. I loved the feel of
it on my skin but hated the feel of it in my mouth; it stung me.
Every time I wanted my father to do face painting, I called it
chocolate pudding.
“It
is important to understand that autistic people think in
pictures,” Temple Grandin paused. Both Al and Verbena looked at
each other quizzically before she continued. “If you mention
church, an autistic person will think of every image of church that
they have ever seen. This starts a loop in their mind that may take
seconds or minutes. Of course, they will lose any thing else that is
going on with the conversation during that time. And then they may
come back and hear a word that sends them off to other images of a
dog or whatever.”
“So
is it best to be as visual as possible when speaking?” Verbena
asked as she wrote down copious notes onto her note pad.
Ms.
Grandin nodded slowly, still looking at the table.
“Ziggy,
are you getting all this?” Al asked into the room.
“Yes,
Admiral.” The disembodied voice of Ziggy spoke in a tone that
implied that she knew what her duty was and was doing it.
“Try
some contingencies with these new perimeters. Also, let’s see if
we can figure out a visual system for me to communicate with Sam,”
Al talked into the air.
“Yes,
Admiral,” Ziggy responded.
“There
is much more I would like to know,” Verbena spoke up as she saw
that Al was preparing to leave.
“Please
feel free. I want to get back to the Control Room and go over with
Dom some new programs to get started with,” Al said, feeling the
anxiety that he always did at being away from Sam for a good length
of time. He stood up to leave.
“The
little things can be most important,” Ms. Grandin volunteered.
“It
was nice to meet you,” Al said, this time not extending his hand.
“It
wasn’t nice meeting you. It was uncomfortable. Your suit is too
bright,” Ms. Grandin said.
Al
simply nodded and left the conference room.
PART
FOUR
As he raced back to the Control Room, Al hoped that Dom had
his handlink uploaded. He was eager to try and get back to speak
with Sam. He was sure now that he would be able to have much better
success.
“Lofty, do you
have…?” Al never finished his question before Dom interrupted
him.
“Thank God, you’re
here,” Dom said in great relief.
Al looked at him
questioningly.
“We’ve had some
problems with the boy in the Waiting Room. I called Sammy Jo since
both you and Dr. Beeks were in the conference. I think you should go
in there immediately,” Dom replied.
Al went into the Waiting
Room directly and walked in on a heated conversation in process.
“I don’t want to go
back,” Nicholas insisted, as Al found him and Sammy Jo in the
midst of a stare-down contest. Neither of them had the distinct
advantage yet.
“Why not?” Sammy Jo
asked, clearly agitated by the way the conversation had been going.
Nicholas did not want to go back, and if he did not go back, what
would happen to her father? She did not recall a situation where the
person in the Waiting Room had not wanted to go back. Normally, they
were complaining about not getting back soon enough. What were they
going to do now?
“I have never felt
this way before. I can speak. I can say the actual words that I am
thinking. It makes me feel sad that I can’t do the things that the
other kids can do. It makes me feel sad every day.” Nicholas
clutched his fist to his heart. “I don’t want to go back to
where the kids make fun at me. I don’t want to go back to where I
can’t do the things I want to or play the games I like, or even
try new things. I don’t want to go back to where the kids are mean
to me. They make me cry.”
Al could feel the words
of pain that sprang from Nicholas’s mouth. It hurt to hear them,
especially since he had seen Nicholas, or at least how he was
through his earlier visitation with Sam.
“I understand that you
have difficult feelings about your life. It is nice to hear you
express your feelings. But you must understand…” Sammy Jo
started to explain again the importance of him going back. Al placed
a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“This must be like a
sort of freedom for you,” Al said.
Nicholas looked at him
sadly. “I can do more. It’s the little things I get to do, like
handstands,” he said simply. “I feel different and I like it.
You’re not going to make me go back if I don’t want to?”
Al swallowed hard.
“You may want to think about what will happen if you stay. First,
you will be in that body, not your own. You will never be able to
see your mom and dad again. I want to be honest with you, Nicholas.
My job, essentially, is to do everything I can to put you back where
you belong – back in your time. I will certainly listen to you if
you do not want to go back. I may be able to help you and I may not.
You need to understand this. You only get to make this decision
once. I will never be able to put you back if we don’t do it now.
So if you stay and you don’t like it here, you will never be able
to go back. I just won’t be able to do it. Essentially, you will
be trapped here, in that body, as much as you are trapped back in
your old one.”
Nicholas stared at the
soldier, letting everything he heard wash into him.
Sammy Jo stared up at
Al, her eyes clearly asking him what he was doing and if he was
seriously contemplating letting the boy stay. Al squeezed her
shoulder a little harder, hoping that it was a silent expression of
reassurance.
“Think about it hard,
Nicholas. I will come back and talk to you later,” Al said,
realizing now that it was a good time for a tactical retreat.
“Sammy Jo can stay and
help you talk anything through,” he said, looking at Sammy Jo.
“I would be happy
to,” she said, nodding and smiling at Nicholas.
Nicholas also nodded,
acknowledging that he would like that.
“I will have Tina
bring in some drinks for you,” Al said. Leaning over, he whispered
into Sammy Jo’s ear, “Don’t press him. Let him talk and say
anything he wants. Let him come to his own decision. The more you
try to guide him, the more he is going to resist.”
“But what if he
chooses to stay?” she whispered back.
“Let’s cross that
bridge if we get to it,” Al said, hoping that they would never get
to it.
With that, he smiled and
excused himself from the room and walked back into the Control Room.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
“Lofty. Tell me about Nicholas. What happens to him?” Al
asked as he walked up to the main control console that Dom was
standing behind.
Dom typed furiously into
his console. “Nicholas regresses when he gets to his teens to the
point that neither parent is able to cope with all his needs at
home. He moves into a group home where he lives for the next 12
years before dying of pneumonia.”
Al was saddened to hear
that quick synopsis. “Is that it? Does he get better? Does he
change from what I saw in the Imaging Chamber earlier?” Al asked
more fervently than before.
Dom hesitated before
answering as he tried to decipher what Ziggy was giving him. The
problem was that the question called for a qualitative answer rather
than quantitative. Does he get better? Compared to what standard?
Dom answered as best as he could.
“He improves some. But
when he reaches his teens, he regresses to a condition worse than
what you have seen,” Dom answered hesitantly.
Al stood there lost in
his own thoughts. It didn’t sound like such a wonderful life.
“Is
he happy? Is he ever happy?” Al asked hopefully.
Dom
frowned upon hearing the question but typed furiously to try to get
an answer – any answer.
“I
don’t know,” Dom said, shaking his head slowly.
“Ziggy?”
Al questioned, appealing to the computer entity.
“He
has his moments when he is happy, Admiral,” Ziggy responded.
“Does
he have many moments?” Al asked.
“A
couple each day,” Ziggy coldly responded.
Al’s
heart was breaking. He did not know if he was going to have the
strength to make Nicholas go back. Yet if he didn’t, what would
happen to Sam? If he did, it would be hard to live with himself,
knowing that he sent Nicholas to a life that was worse.
“What
happens to his dad?” Al asked.
Al
knew he wasn’t going to like this either, as he saw the frown form
across Dom’s face.
Dom
hesitated again before responding, wishing secretly that he wasn’t
always giving the Admiral bad news.
“Six
months from now, David Busak begins counseling for chronic
depression. Over the years, he slowly gets more distant with
Nicholas so that when Nicholas does regress in his teens, David
gives up. He becomes a drunk and dies of heart disease when he
reaches 52.”
“Okay. Try to get his
medical records and counseling session tapes, manuscripts, or
whatever there is,” Al said, suspecting he already knew what he
would find. With a son in that condition, how would one not be
depressed? Al realized how lucky he was to have the girls he did. He
would make sure to call each one of them as soon as this was over
and tell them again how much he loved them.
“Ziggy, is there
anything you can recommend? Is Sam here to help Nicholas, or is he
here to help his father?” Al asked.
“We haven’t checked
on the mother yet,” suggested Dom.
However, Al was shaking his head. “I thought about that. If
we were here for her, I would have expected Sam to leap into
Nicholas on the week she would have him. I am convinced it has to be
about Nicholas or his father.”
“I compute a 67.8%
chance that we are here to help Nicholas. And a 68.7% chance we are
here to help his father,” Ziggy said impassionedly.
“They’re so close.
What suggestions can you make?” Al asked.
“None, Admiral.
Nothing seems to make any significant difference to their lives,”
Ziggy announced.
“Keep working on
it,” Al said. “I need to go check on Sam.”
Al grabbed his handlink
and walked into the Imaging Chamber.
PART
FIVE
Sam had never been more frustrated. He sat in a bed wearing
Spider-Man pajamas and feeling clean. He had been trying to talk to
the big man ever since Al left, trying to figure out what was going
on. Yet his brain seemed to have him tongue-tied. It seemed to be
playing endless topical movies, all about the baths he took, every
duck he had ever seen, and so forth. It was impossible for him to
focus on anything for any length of time. Every time he tried to say
something, the strangest words came out of his mouth. Words he
seemed to have no control over that made no sense to him or the big
man, yet somewhere in his mind, they felt right and logical to say.
What was he doing here?
Why was he here?
What was he supposed to
do?
How in the world was he
going to do it?
Sam sat stiff as a board
and waited. The big man said he would be right back.
Al walked out of the
Imaging Chamber door. “There you are, Sam. Nice PJ’s,” Al said
with a mischievous, boyish smile on his face. Sam looked at him, his
eyes locked up in some sort of inner struggle.
“Can you hear me,
Sam?” Al asked. “Don’t try and talk, just concentrate on
moving your head.”
Sam slowly nodded.
“Good, Sam. Good. Try
to focus on just one thing,” Al said, trying to use a very
monotone voice.
He consulted his
handlink, which was getting a new wave of information from Verbena
and her further discussions with Ms. Grandin.
“We don’t know why
you are here. I’m sorry, Sam. Do you have any ideas?” Al looked
closely at Sam, who was looking over his shoulder instead of
directly at him.
Sam slowly and with
great effort shook his head.
“Okay,” Al answered,
trying not to show emotion. That was part of the new information he
was getting. No big movements, completely calm in the face of
everything, no outward showing of emotion. Al went with it without
question.
Sam wanted to scream at
Al. Get him to do something.
“Where is dad?” Al
asked, consulting his watch. He had been here several minutes and
had yet to see him. “Be right back, Sam. Lofty, center me in on
David Busak.”
In the blink of an eye,
Al was standing in the kitchen, not seeing David but hearing him
sob.
David Busak sat on the
kitchen floor, a wooden tray next to him with a glass of water and a
fistful of pills on it. He cried into both of his hands.
“What can I do?”
David asked the kitchen hoping it would give an answer to him.
Al pointed to himself
and looked around, wondering if he could be seen or whom David could
be talking to.
“Does he even know
that I am here?” David asked the glass of water he was looking at.
Al knew that he was just talking to himself at that point. Al
wished he could say something. It was frustrating not to be able to
lend some kind, understanding words to this poor man, whose heart
seemed to be flopping on the floor next to him.
“Is this the best it
will ever be? Will he ever recognize me? Will he ever call me
dad?” David sobbed for a couple more minutes, a certain level of
his pain and anguish releasing him for a moment, until its eventual
buildup again. He needed these times to cry – to release a part of
his tension, although he was needing them more and more, and he was
getting more and more caught up in feelings of helplessness and
despair.
He only wanted the best
for his son – just the best. To make his life happy and worth
living, for whatever that meant for his son. David Busak was
beginning to lose hope that he would ever be able to get his son to
that point.
Al felt increasingly
uncomfortable standing there, watching this man go through his
personal agony on the kitchen floor. It was such a private and
intimate moment that Al felt the entirety of his voyeur existence as
the Observer. It was a heavy weight on his shoulders. He turned his
back towards David as he saw him trying to regain his composure.
As David picked up the
tray after drying his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt and making his
way to his son’s bedroom, a few pieces of a puzzle fell into place
for Al. He punched a finger at the handlink, the door whooshed open
and he stepped through.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Al walked directly into the Waiting Room. Both Nicholas and
Sammy Jo were there, sitting stretched out on the floor. They seemed
to be taking a break from talking and drinking from their glasses.
“Hi, Al,” Sammy Jo
said in a much more relaxed voice than she had had the last time he
was here.
“Sammy,” Al replied,
although he was looking directly at Nicholas now. He was the person
that he had come to see.
“Aren’t my parents
still alive at this time?” Nicholas asked Al abruptly.
Al
nodded. “They are.”
“So I could see
them,” Nicholas said with an air of defiance.
“Yes, you could see
them. But remember, they would not see you as Nicholas,” Al said
as he pointed to the table’s reflection which showed Nicholas his
mirror image of Dr. Sam Beckett.
“But I could tell them
all about it,” Nicholas said.
“Oh yes, you certainly
could. However, it would be a tough sell. Most likely, they would
not believe you. Sam would be in your body, they would still have
Nicholas. They would find it hard to believe that this 50-ish year
old doctor was actually their son,” Al said. He hated to be this
blunt with the boy, but he did not want to sugar coat this at all.
Nicholas had a tough decision to make, and neither path he could
choose was without its pitfalls.
A tear came running down
Nicholas’s cheek, followed by another one. “I would really miss
them,” Nicholas said through his sadness.
“We’ve been talking
a lot about the pros and cons,” Sammy Jo spoke up. “Missing his
folks is a big thing.”
“Yeah, Sammy Jo was
telling me how much she misses her father, too,” replied Nicholas,
feeling a connection between both of them.
Al noticed that Sammy
Jo’s eyes were starting to glisten. Nicholas went over and hugged
her.
“This feels so good. I
wish it felt good in my own body. I would so like to give my mom and
dad hugs. It is just that, well, I don’t like to be touched in my
own body. It causes too many thoughts to go through my head, and the
touch doesn’t feel nice.” Nicholas released Sammy Jo from the
hug; she now had tears in her eyes.
Al was struggling to
keep his own composure. With all the exposed feelings in here, it
was hard for him not to grab them both and hug them – to share
with them his love for his wife and his own children. But sadly for
Al, there always seemed a good reason not to. He was in charge and
in the midst of a leap. Someone had to keep his or her composure and
keep everything on track. Ultimately, that responsibility fell
squarely on his shoulders. Al sighed, wishing sometimes that things
were different. But they weren’t.
“Well Nicholas…?”
Al asked, not finishing the question but rather leaving it out in
the air to hang.
Nicholas looked at Al
and then at Sammy Jo. The silence extended. “I will go back,” he
said at last. “But please come and visit me,” Nicholas said to
Sammy Jo.
“I will,” she
replied, her voice quivering with emotion.
Al let out a long
breath.
“I just wish…”
Nicholas said out loud.
“What do you wish,
Nicholas?” Sammy Jo asked.
“I just wish things
could be different,” Nicholas said sadly.
“If you could just
make one thing different, what would it be?” Sammy Jo inquired.
“I would like to tell
my dad I love him. I have never been able to, and he works so hard
to help me with everything,” Nicholas said with tears streaming
down his face.
Al smiled. “It’s the
little things that matter.”
Nicholas nodded.
Al opened his arms and embraced him. Whispering in his ear,
“I have an idea that might allow you to do just that.
You game to try?”
Again, Nicholas nodded.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Al stood out in the Control Room facing Dom. “We’re going
to try and orchestrate this one a little bit. I want you to focus
Nicholas back into Nicholas,” Al said to him.
Dom looked at him
quizzically. “Won’t that put the two of them in there together
at the same time?”
“That’s what I am
hoping,” said Al, more confidently than he felt. “We have done
something like this before with a rape victim.”
“We have?” Dom
looked at the Admiral, puzzled.
“Well, actually, it
was with your first predecessor, Gooshie,” Al said somewhat
sheepishly. Sometimes he really did miss that little bad-breathed
guy. He liked Lofton well enough, but Gooshie had been there since
the beginning.
“So, what is the
plan?” Dom asked.
“Just make this
work,” Al said and walked into the Imaging Chamber. “And get me
to Sam.”
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Sam sat, drinking down the myriad of pills he had to swallow.
“All right buddy, let
me get rid of this tray and I will read you stories,” the big man
said as cheerfully as possible. However, his face looked flush and
his eyes were bloodshot.
The big man picked up
the tray and headed out of Nicholas’s bedroom to return it back to
the kitchen.
Sam sat bolt upright in
bed waiting.
With the whooshing
sound, Sam’s hands jumped up to cover his eyes. The man wearing
white must have been returning.
“Sam, good, you’re
alone… probably not for long though. I better make this quick. I
want you to focus on one thing, Sam, okay? Nod if you can hear
me?” Al said.
Sam nodded slowly and
did not drop his hands from his eyes.
“Focus on the phrase,
‘I love you,’” Al said.
Sam dropped his hands
away and stared over Al’s shoulder.
“David Busak has never
heard his son say those words to him. I think this leap is about him
and Nicholas. Lofty, what does Ziggy say about being here for both
of them?” Al looked down at the handlink. “96.4%. This is it,
Sam, trust me.”
Nicholas’s father came
in and sat down beside him on the bed. Al stepped back and tried to
hide himself in the room. He had to watch, to make sure, yet he
didn’t want to be any kind of distraction either. He typed in
something into the handlink that told Dom to try it. He hoped this
was going to work. David Busak pulled out a book and began to read
it.
As Sam listened, he
repeated slowly in his mind, ‘I
love you, I love you, I love you.’
And then something
strange happened. Sam heard more than one voice repeating the words
‘I love you.’ The two voices became like one, and the chant
began.
“…and Willow fell
fast asleep. The end,” David Busak finished, putting the book in
his lap. “Would you like me to read it to you again?”
“I love you,”
Nicholas said.
David Busak looked like
a Mack truck had just hit him full on. “What, buddy?” he asked,
questioning himself that he even heard his son say anything at all
just then.
“I love you,”
Nicholas repeated.
“Oh, Nicholas,” he
said, tears streaming down his face, as he grabbed the boy and gave
him a big bear hug. “I love you so much.”
Al watched through the
cracked-open Imaging Chamber door. A tear rolled down his own cheek.
Nicholas lifted two arms and very gently placed them around his
father, his best effort at returning the hug.
At that moment, David
Busak was filled with a new deep hope for his son.
Sam turned blue and
leaped. The holographic world around Al went blank. All Al saw now
was the off-white walls of the Imaging Chamber.
“Lofty, what happens
to David and Nicholas now?” Al asked as he stared down at the
handlink for the response.
Nicholas
does much better. Although he does regress in his teens, it is not
permanent. He goes on to live a life on his own, in a house very
close to his father’s. David Busak continues to have hope and
re-devotes himself to his son.
After reading the
message, he took one last long, deep breath and stepped back through
the Imaging Chamber door.
EPILOGUE
The blue haze dissipated, leaving Dr. Sam Beckett to find the
lens of a giant video camera staring him in the face.
His eyes widened in alarm as he leaned even closer to the
circular black object hovering a few feet away from him.
Behind the camera, the young man who was squatting on his
knee holding it on his shoulders took his eye away from the
viewfinder, giving Sam a look that he was expecting something from
the Leaper.
Clearing his throat, Sam
looked over to his right. A
man in a brown suit was seated next to him, holding a microphone in
Sam’s direction. The
dressed-up reporter was also giving Sam a look of bafflement.
Behind the reporter, Sam noticed a dugout.
Suddenly, a bright ray
of sunshine broke through the clouds up above, forcing Sam to pull
the brim of the cap on his head lower.
Averting his eyes, he looked down from the brilliance of the
sun and the now annoyed looks on the faces of the people around him.
It didn’t take the Leaper long to realize he was seated in
a folding chair and that he was wearing a brightly colored teal
jersey and white pants with teal pinstripes.
Before him on the grass, stretched a long line of white chalk
heading behind the cameraman towards a backstop.
“Um,” Sam muttered,
clearing his throat, banging his cleats against the chair.
“Could you repeat the question please?”
“Sure, Mark.
I guess it’s been awhile and you’re not used to these
interviews anymore. It
has been at least five years since you were hounded by all the
press.” The reporter
turned to the cameraman who by now was looking a bit uncomfortable
balancing on his knee with the big camcorder on his shoulder.
“When we get back to the studios just edit out the last few
minutes. Use some of
that filler B-roll footage we shot of the practice earlier to cover
up the long pause.”
The cameraman nodded as the reporter turned back towards Sam.
“OK, Mark, I’ll ask the question again, just take a deep
breath and just let your answer come out naturally.” After a
pause, “Can you tell us your first reaction on trying to make a
comeback in the major leagues after battling injuries and being away
from the game for so long?”
Sam found the microphone
back in his face again. This
time, Sam noticed the microphone had the letters ESPN labeled on it.
As he opened his mouth to make up a reply, a hand whipped
around from behind and slammed a paper plate full of shaving cream
into his face. Sam’s
eyes smarted as the plate fell from his face to the ground.
People had gathered around, laughing at the Leaper’s
plight. A big glob of shaving cream fell from his lips as he turned
to the camera and sputtered, “Ohh, boy…”
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