Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top-secret project known as Quantum Leap.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator…and vanished.

 

He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the Project Observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.

 

As evil and neutral forces alike do their best to stop Dr. Beckett’s journey, his children, Dr. Samantha Josephine Fulton and Stephen Beckett, continuously strive to retrieve their time-lost father and bring him home permanently.  Despite returning home several times over the last decade, Dr. Beckett has remained lost in the time stream…his final fate no longer certain.

 

Trapped in the past and driven by an unknown force, Dr. Beckett struggles to accept his destiny as he continues to find himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong with the hopes that his next leap…will be the final leap home.

 

Summary of Part I:

Sam leaped into Howie Lockwood, a young college student vacationing with friends at Walt Disney World just prior to the Nights of Joy.  Hampered by firewalls and sealed records, all the Project was able to tell Sam was that his mission was to prevent one of the group, Russell Lovet-Hurston, Jr. from vanishing after the vacation ended.  Meanwhile, Al was struck by how unique a Visitor Howie Lockwood, Sam’s host, proved to be.

PART ONE

Disney-MGM Studios Theme Park

Walt Disney World

Thursday, September 11, 1997

8:00 PM

After getting through The Great Movie Ride, Russ had followed Skip and Ginger back out onto the street outside.  He laughed and chatted with them about the ride, but as they started back the way they had come, he slowly lagged a little behind them yet always keeping them in sight.  When they drew near to Echo Lake, he glanced toward his companions and seeing them still laughing and cracking up about this or that aspect of the ride, Russ slipped quietly from amongst the other park visitors and headed for the lake.

The light was just dim enough to give him some seclusion yet still see his way along the bank of the manmade lake.  He followed it around to the point that he'd stopped at earlier in the day.  Stepping out of the way of a small family group so they could pass by, he finally turned to face the water.  As a soft waft of air blew in his face, Russ' gaze searched the water then lifted to the horizon where the last straggling bits of evening light were slipping away.

Inside, where no one but he and God could see, Russ again looked into the emptiness that was so big and so lonely.  *Where are you, God?* he whispered into the void. *I'm here... and I need You... I want you... but... where are You?*  He paused, a strong wash of emotion welling through him, the ache of it just enhancing the echo of his words back to him. It almost seemed as if another, gentler voice was whispering back to him.

**Russ...**

"Hey, Russ! There you are!" Skip called out as he and Ginger walked up to Russ. "For a coupla of minutes, we thought you'd gone back for another chance to ride those rails again! Wasn't that gangster thing wild!?"

Russ grinned in what he hoped was a convincing manner.  "Yeah.  I swear I got extraterrestrial goo dripped on me when we went through the scene from Alien."

"Are you sure that wasn't Skip sneezing on you?" teased Ginger, poking a slender finger playfully into Skip's ribs.

"Hey!  I resemble that remark!" Skip quipped.  He peered through the gloaming to see Howie cutting up with the other girls over a bright T-shirt.  "There's the rest of the gang.  Let's catch up with them and," he affected a gangster's accent, "blow this Popsicle stand."

He led the way over.  Russ followed, his face amiable enough, but his soul still tormented, his mind focused on the whisper he wasn't sure he'd heard.  By the time they reached the others, he'd convinced himself it had all been his imagination, and once again he yearned for the emptiness within to be filled.

Sam, still goofing with Karen and Juanita about the T-shirt, turned at the sound of Skip's voice, though his gaze went immediately to Russ.  From what he could see, Russ was in as light and jovial a mood as his companions. But one of the many lessons he'd learned early on in his leaping was to not always take face value as the final answer. That, coupled with what Al had told him, assured him that behind the grin and jokes was a young man hurting badly.  Again he wondered how he was supposed to reach through Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr.'s pain and help him through his crisis.

***Shouldn't you be more concerned about your own failures?***

Inside, Sam went still, for a moment stunned before hastily brushing aside the mean little whisper, the echo of which was just fading at the back of his mind.

"Hey, Howie? What's with the neon colored t-shirt?" Russ teased. "You planning a career as a rescue flare or something?"

Sam turned to see Russ gesturing with the Fozzie Bear T-shirt in his hand, having been shown the contents of the bag by Karen.  Sam rolled his eyes and grinned.  "Well, somebody's gotta point the way, don't they?"

To his surprise, Russ merely nodded and returned the shirt to the bag, passing it back to Karen without uttering another word.  A moment later he stretched.  "You know, if we stay for the fireworks, we'll have to leave with everyone else.  I mean, we'll catch fireworks tomorrow night before the Night of Joy begins.  What say we bail out and head back to the resort?"

The girls started to protest, but they were feeling the effects of their flight as well, and so the argument didn't last long.  They did insist that the guys allow them to peruse the gift shops on Hollywood Boulevard, the main thoroughfare leading to the park entrance.

"Fifteen minutes tops," Sam insisted.  "Or it won't make any difference us leaving early.  We'll get stuck in the mass exodus all the same."  Already crowds were congregating in the center area, preparing for the fireworks display.  It had been years since Sam had been to a Disney park (more years than he cared to think about, in all honesty), but he was aware that when it came to pyrotechnics, Disney set the mark to which all others strove.  In truth, he wouldn't have minded staying to watch, but he had to admit the prospect of returning to the resort, and away from the crowds, was more than appealing.

Though each store appeared to be a separate entity from the street, they actually flowed one into the next on the inside.  Sam was incredibly relieved by that fact, as that meant they wouldn't have to keep going in and out.  While the shops were full of guests milling about, due to the displays, racks, and shelves, the crowds were dispersed and manageable, nothing like the veritable sea of people outside on Hollywood Boulevard.

True to their agreement, the girls completed their shopping in only slightly over fifteen minutes, and it was Russ and Skip who had to be coerced outside.  The object to which they were devoting so much attention was a Mousecar award... a small gold-plated statue of Mickey Mouse instead of the golden Oscar.  Several categories were available to choose from, and Russ and Skip whispered and giggled worse than the girls as they lifted first one and then another.  Ultimately, they left without purchasing any of them, and Sam, suspicious, wondered what they'd been considering.

They were just nearing the entrance to the park when one last shop to the right caught Juanita's eye, and she pointed.  "Oh, please... just five minutes in there?  Please?  You know I'm a sucker for Hollywood memorabilia."  They followed the line of her pointing finger to a small bungalow bearing the name Sid Cahuenga's One-of-a-Kind.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Sam said, "Okay."

Juanita squealed and hurried into the shop, Karen and Ginger on her heels.  The boys followed at a slower pace, but Skip's eyes widened and he beamed at an autographed photo of Carrie Fisher in her skimpy Jabba costume.  "Hey, this store might not be so bad after all," he grinned.

Sam had rolled his eyes so much in the last twenty minutes, it was like they had set to automatic, as once more they rolled, this time at Skip's comment. However that didn't prevent him from finding the photograph in question and grinning, even as he said, "You're starting to be almost as bad as the girls when it comes to souvenirs, pal," he cracked.

Skip just grinned wider as he shrugged and followed the girls into the shop.  "So sue me," was all he said.

Sam turned to Russ. "You going in, too?"

"Might as well," he responded lightly as he headed for the door of the shop. "At least we can ride herd on them and make sure that it really is *only* five minutes." Flashing a grin at Sam as they got inside, he added, "I'll tag along behind the girls. You keep an eye on Skip."

"Gee, thanks," Sam said then turned to scan the shoppers busily examining and discussing the merits of this or that one souvenir out of all that were available.  He didn't have far to look to find Skip who was, true to the moment outside, perusing through a selection of autographed photographs of a variety of some of Hollywood's most famous stars.

"So, have you found her yet?" Sam asked, coming up beside Skip.

"Yeah, I found her, all right," Skip groused.  He turned the signed photos over to show the price tags to Sam.  "I can't afford *any* of these!"

Laughing, Sam nudged the football player and indicated a corner of the shop where the girls had armsful of unsigned photographs.  "I bet the prices are a bit more reasonable over there."

Skip dropped the autographed pictures back into the box from which they'd come and jogged (trying to look cool and failing miserably) over to the girls.  "What have you got here?" he innocently asked.

"The Star Wars bin is over there, Skip," Ginger said lazily, pointing to the appropriate section.  Skip dutifully and eagerly flipped through the pictures, a small wolf-whistle of appreciation skipping him when he found an unsigned picture identical to the one he'd "admired" outside.  He looked at the price tag on the back and chuckled.  "5 bucks, that's more my speed."

Sam laughed and turned his attention to the girls.  "Narrowed your selection down yet?"

"I'm trying!" Juanita complained.  She held up two black and white photographs, both of young actors from the 1950s.  One was of the iconic James Dean, the other of an actor who bore a bit of a resemblance to him, but was wearing some sort of a starched English shirt with an undone collar.  "Oh, I don't know why I'm even asking *you* for help choosing," she crossly said, eyeing Sam.  She turned to Karen and Ginger and they resumed their whispering, weighing one photo over the other.  In the end, she took the James Dean photo to the register, the Rebel Without a Cause pose apparently winning out.

By the time everyone (except Sam and Russ, who hadn’t selected anything) had paid for their purchases and were again amongst the throng heading for the main entrance, a good deal more time than the originally agreed fifteen minutes had elapsed, thanks mostly to Skip going back for one last longing look at the signed photograph of Carrie Fisher.

It was closing in on 9 o'clock before the gang finally entered the Contemporary Resort and made their way up to their rooms.  As they stepped off on the eleventh floor, Sam could no longer hold back a wide yawn, pausing just a few steps down the hall to stretch.

Catching the others watching him, he grinned, albeit tiredly.  "My priorities start with a hot shower and end with my head making acquaintance with my pillow."

"In between those two monumental events," Karen reminded, patting Sam's back lightly in passing as she led the way down the hall to the room she and the other girls were sharing, "is the prayer circle."  Finding their room, she unlocked the door and entered.

Sam, on the other hand, was still standing in the hall, looking after Karen and the others as they moved around him. *Prayer circle?* he wondered, not really all that certain about being a part of it, though it did have a certain feel of familiarity for him at the same time. *Must be bleed through from Howie,* he thought as he responded to Skip poking his head out of a room just beyond that of the girls and calling out, "You coming in, or are you planning on curling up on the floor outside the door and let Mousekeeping clean you up sometime during the night?"

Shaking his head as he sheepishly answered, "No. Just... thinking about something."

"Well, unless you have sunk to the level of being unable to *think* and walk at the same time, get in here," Skip groused good-naturedly.  "If you're last to get in the bathroom, you just might not find a towel to use."

Reaching the room and entering, Sam closed the door then turned and stopped in his tracks as he did a wide-eyed scan of the screaming colors on the walls and bed coverings.

"Good night above," he muttered. "I've just wandered into Al's closet!"

"Who's Al?" Russ asked as he dropped down on one side of the double bed and started taking his shoes off.

It took a moment before the leaper could tear his eyes away from the eye-watering lime green walls long enough to realize that he'd been spoken to.  "Oh... uh... somebody I know who has a penchant for... invigorating color schemes in his wardrobe."

Pulling off his other shoe, Russ dropped it, grinning as he, too, looked around the room. "If he likes these colors, he must really love coloring Easter eggs."

"Easter eggs don't hold a candle to Al," Sam murmured as he finally moved toward the rollaway bed situated at an angle to the double bed that had obviously been claimed by Russ and Skip.  "When it comes to color, Al could put a psychedelic nightmare to shame!"

Russ laughed heartily.  Skip had apparently taken advantage of their conversation to jump in the shower, as running water could be heard, soon to be followed by Skip's loud singing.

"I've got a river of life flowing out of me

Makes the lame to walk and the blind to see

Opens prison doors, sets the captives free. 

I've got a river of life flowing out of me!"^a

"Too bad it can't make the tone deaf able to sing," commented Russ.  He got up and walked to the sliding glass door on the far wall of the room.  "C'mon, let's escape the visual AND auditory assault on our senses and go out here.  *This* is the real reason to stay here."

He opened the glass door and ushered Sam outside.  Once Sam set foot on the balcony, his breath was literally taken away by the sight awaiting him.  Across the dark expanse of the parking lot and access roads leading to the Magic Kingdom, Sam saw the park illuminated.  Cinderella Castle glowed blue, then pink, then orange as the illumination gradually changed.  To the right and nearer to them, the bright colors of Tomorrowland sparkled.  The clean lines of Mt. Fuji-inspired Space Mountain seemed so close Sam felt if he stretched far enough, he could touch the white structure.  His gaze swept out to the left, over the Seven Seas Lagoon, the spotlights of the various watercraft-bearing passengers from the Magic Kingdom as they headed back to the resorts or the parking area.

It was magical.

"Ohhh boy," Sam breathed after several minutes lost in the fascinating and glorious panoramic view.  Even then it was another moment before he could tear his eyes away.

"It's amazing to think that this all started with one man's vision," he said at last as he turned to look at Russ. But whatever had been about to follow that observation faded as the leaper got a close up look at Russ' expression.  Where he was certain that his own had likely resembled that of someone seeing the spectacular view for the first time - one of awe and wonder - the young college man's expression was so distant and unseeing as to make Sam wonder for a second if Russ had somehow fallen into a trance of some sort.

Uncertain if he should touch the young man, Sam finally just called his name softly, "Russ?"

"I wonder if the colors in heaven are anything like this," Russ responded, his voice a monotone.  Slowly he lifted one hand from the balcony rail and stretched it out like a child might as if attempting to touch the brilliant and ever-changing colors now painting the night sky with broad, breathing swipes and splashes.

Sam was startled slightly at the first explosions of the fireworks, the faint sounds of music emanating from the park not having served to warn him the spectacular show was about to start.  He took a calming breath and regarded Russ again.

"I would imagine they are," Sam answered, simply.  "But this is a nice foretaste."

"Mm-hmm," Russ nodded absently, his eyes fixed on the bright colors raining down on the park.  His face was bathed in blues and greens as the next series went off in perfect time to the accompanying track.

From the next balcony over, Sam heard the girls "ooh-ing" and "ahh-ing," the fireworks having drawn them outside as well.  He inhaled a deep breath and got ready to try to draw Russ into conversation, but a burly hand clapping down on his shoulder cut any such attempts off as Skip joined them on the balcony, smelling fresh from his recent emergence from the shower.

"Now that's a sight, ain't it?" he breathed.  "Russ, I'm gonna send your old man flowers for footing the bill for this!"

The light expression had returned to Russ' face as soon as Skip had stepped onto the balcony, and he grinned at the jock.  "Flowers are for sissies, he says.  You better just stick with a thank-you card."

Skip laughed and nodded, then poked Sam in the ribs.  "Dude, if you want to grab a shower before prayer circle, you better get going.  You'll see the fireworks tomorrow.  Meanwhile, Russ and I will enjoy the view for ya."

"You do that," Sam said as he moved away from the railing, pausing to watch as Skip took his place.  It made him feel a little easier knowing that Russ wasn't alone right now.  Gazing at the dark-haired young man that, to Sam's mind, bore a vague resemblance to an actor... Tom... Somebody... airplanes... guns...  Sam shook his head; he hated it when he could see a face of someone in his mind but couldn't put a name with it... he wished Al had been able to give him more to go on.  But even without such additional information, the leaper's instincts were starting to niggle at him more strongly each time he and Russ interacted.

"Dude, you gonna shower or wait for the evening dew to do a number on you?"

Chuckling, Sam rejoined the moment and went back into the room. Finding Howie's suitcase, he was grateful to find a small toiletry bag as well as a pair of pajamas. Taking both with him into the bathroom, he made short work of stripping out of his clothes and taking advantage of a long hot shower.  A quick shave and brushing his teeth completed the necessities. Pulling on the pajamas... *you really do have a thing for Fozzie Bear!*... was all Sam could think, even as he had to grin at the reflection in the mirror. For a split second, it felt like he had an insight into a tiny part of Howie Lockwood.

"Wocka, wocka, wocka," he whispered drolly to the reflection, then gathered his things and exited the bathroom.  Depositing the clothes on the floor near the suitcase, Sam returned the toiletry bag to the suitcase then went back to the balcony.

"You’re up, Russ," he said as he stepped carefully onto the balcony.  Looking out at the view again, he noticed that the brilliant illumination had shifted directions as it were.  Moving to stand between Skip and Russ, he followed their line of sight to the Seven Seas Lagoon below and to the left.

"Boy, when this place puts on an extravaganza, they really pull out all the stops!" he said as he watched the Electric Water Pageant in all its larger than life beauty.  Without looking away from it, he nudged Russ who was at his right. "Your turn," he reminded him. He spared a brief glance back when Russ acknowledged him and went inside the room.

By the time the last barge of the Electric Water Pageant was making its way out of sight, Skip and Sam were back in the room.  To cover not being sure what exactly was coming up with the prayer circle thing, Sam occupied himself with folding his used clothing. He watched furtively as Skip went into his own suitcase and brought out what appeared to be a well used Bible.

"What are you looking for?" Sam ventured as he dropped the folded dirty clothes on the floor in a more or less tidy pile again.

"Hmm? Oh, it's my turn to lead the prayer circle," Skip murmured as he skimmed a passage in his Bible.  The sound of the bathroom door opening, and Russ emerging and looking more relaxed than Sam had seen in the last couple of hours, drew Skip's attention.  Standing up from the bed, Bible in hand, one finger inserted to hold the place for the passage he had chosen, he headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

Opening the door, Skip gave him a fleeting odd look. "To the girls' room. You don't think they'd come in here in our little corner of pigsty heaven for the prayer circle do you?"

Even Russ laughed at that as he tossed his toiletry bag on the bed and headed for the door.

Sam managed a weak grin and went out the door, pausing as Skip closed the door, then followed him the few feet down the hall to the room occupied by the girls.  Once inside, and after a minute or two of one-upping and teasing about meeting in the girls' room because "At least in here we can find the floor!” they one by one found a spot on the floor, making a circle.  Sam opted to sit between Skip and Russ, remaining quiet as a mouse as the good-natured jock to his right started the prayer circle. Almost from the first word it was as if a quieting hand was laid over them, though it didn't quite suppress the fun that their surroundings seemed to exude and seep into everyone within its realm.

"I was thinking on the flight down," Skip began, "about how small everything looked from the plane.  And then I got to wondering, how amazing is it that even though we must practically look microscopic to God, even though we must be tinier than specks of dust, how amazing is it that He knows us individually, and He cares about us."  He paused and met the eye of each member of the group before looking down at the Bible in his lap for a moment.  Skip raised his head again.  "And I was just struck by this amazing wave of love and adoration for Him.  And so, what I want to bring to the devotional time tonight is from Psalm 42." 

Skip opened his Bible and began to read, "As the deer pants for the water brooks, so my soul pants for Thee, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?"⁴  He closed the Bible and looked at them all again.  "I just thirst for God so much right now."

For a moment all of them were quiet, then Karen offered her thoughts. "I really like that passage," she said quietly. "It always reminds me that no matter how bad things get in my life, no matter how hectic, God's always there to refresh me."

Sam remained silent then his gaze went to Juanita when she began to speak.

"It's like running a race or working on a term paper or... doing a job that seems like it's never going to end, you know?" She glanced around the circle, her gaze pausing on Russ then on Sam. "The deer gets thirsty for water and it knows where to go to find it." Her gaze was still on Sam in the aura of Howie. "I'm just so thankful that when this life makes me thirsty, I know where to go for refreshment better than anything in this world."

"Even iced mocha lattes?" Skip broke the moment.

"Way better than iced mocha lattes," Juanita affirmed.  She grinned at Skip, then said, "It's like Jesus told the woman at the well, 'whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.'⁵  He's the well that never runs dry."

"Preach it, sister," grinned Ginger.

Karen nodded her agreement to what Juanita had said, and added, "I just want to thank God for all He's done for us, don't you?"

Serious again, Skip agreed.  "Yeah, let's start praying.  Any specific requests?"

"Front row for Steven Curtis Chapman tomorrow night?" offered Ginger.

"Not quite what I was thinking of, but I'm with you," chuckled Skip.

Karen slowly lifted her hand to indicate she had a request.  "Y'all remember my parents.  Harvest time is coming up, and last time I talked with them, one of the crew had gotten hurt, so they're kinda shorthanded."

A twinge of longing, empathy, and wistfulness hit Sam at Karen's words, remembering his childhood and fond memories of the Becketts' dairy farm.  He then was niggled by the recollection that they'd lost the farm to bankruptcy, and he hoped the same wouldn't happen to Karen's family.

No one else had any requests, so Skip decided they'd get started.  "Let's all join hands," he said.  "I'll start, and then we'll go around the circle.  Ginger, you can pray after me, and Howie, you can close when it gets around to you."  He looked at them all in turn.  "Popcorn prayers are fine.  Don't feel like you have to preach a sermon."

He bowed his head and began, "Oh Lord, God, You are so incredible and mighty.  You fill our every need and You lift us up when we're down.  God, You quench our thirst and are a source of guidance and wisdom.  Father, we thank You for the opportunity You gave us to spend this weekend in fellowship together, Lord, to get to know each other better, to get to know You better, and to enjoy the talents of so many musicians who honor Your name."

As Skip prayed, Sam began frantically praying on his own, because all too soon he'd be called upon to pray aloud, a task he was certainly not up to.  While he tried to keep his attention on Skip's words, he pleaded that he wouldn't make a fool of himself or make a mockery of the prayer circle at his attempts.  He was all too aware of the truth of the words he'd spoken to Al earlier that day.  He hadn't darkened the doorstep of a church apart from Leaping, and it had been quite some time since a Leap had brought him into a church setting.

Next to him, and unbeknownst to him, Russ was burdened by thoughts distracting him from Skip's prayer as well.  The passage from Psalm 42 had touched some point within the void inside Russ to such an extent that he only vaguely heard the comments made by Karen and the others.  *I'm thirsty, Lord.  I've been to the well and I've drank but I'm still thirsty.* After a moment the same plaintive cry that had echoed in his soul by the lake once more reverberated into the emptiness: *Where are you God?*  He didn't realize to what extent he was drawn into the darkness he was struggling to find a way out of until he felt a light squeeze on his hand.

"Lord, I just thank you for all You are and all You are to me. Thank you for not giving up on me and for leading me day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute," Russ prayed. "I don't know how I got through life until You came into my life." He paused, waiting for words to come but they didn't and so, Russ waited for Howie to close.

Sam's heart was in his throat as he listened to Russ' prayer. *Please God... help me... what do I say?*

When it was clear that Russ had finished, Sam swallowed a couple of times and licked his lips, the thought of, *Here goes nothing* flitting through his head as he opened his mouth.  At first it was almost as if he were tongue-tied and inwardly he cringed, feeling his face burning as he stumbled. But then slowly it was like words were put in his mind and then found their way to his lips. He wasn't even sure where they came from.

"Lord, I don't know why you brought me here to this place," Sam prayed softly. "But now that I'm here, I hope... I know You'll show me why you wanted me here." He paused and took a soft deep breath then continued. "I fall more times than I can count and I get scared. But You're always with me... in one way or another. Thanks, Lord. I... I don't know how I'd get through... everything if You weren't holding onto me." He paused again but his mind was blank once more and he cobbled together a closing, ending with a soft, "Amen," which was echoed by the others in the circle.

The leaper thought for a moment, as he opened his eyes, that the circle was ended. But when Karen started to softly sing, Sam just became quiet.  From somewhere at the bottom of one of the many holes in his Swiss-cheesed memories, the words she and the others were singing struck a chord with him. He seemed to remember someone in his family, maybe his mother, or it might have been one of his grandparents, humming that tune when he was a little boy.

"When peace like a river attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll.

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul. 

It is well, with my soul.

It is well, it is well with my soul."^b

Silence reigned for another moment before Sam felt Skip squeeze his fingers and say a firm, "Amen."

The group sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, and then Karen said, "Well, we've got an early start tomorrow, I guess we should call it a night."  They all stood and exchanged a group hug, then the guys' left the girls' more spacious room.  (The girls apparently didn't have a problem sharing beds, though Sam couldn't judge who was getting a bed to herself.  There was no rollaway taking up floor space in their room.)

A short walk brought them back to their room, and with only a small measure of cutting up, they each peeled back the covers to their beds, and they each settled in, Skip in one bed, Russ in the other, and Sam on the rollaway.  They bade each other goodnight and switched off the lights, and Sam lay on his back staring up at the dark ceiling.

He thought back over the prayer time, and how amazed he was at this group of kids and the depth of their faith.  He thought about Russ' prayer and wondered at the disparity between Russ' words and the look he'd seen all too often for being in such a magical, happy place.  *I know Al said he disappears, and Al feels so strongly that I'm here for Russ.  But he SOUNDS like he has it all together, that he trusts God to see him through things.*

Sam sighed quietly, as he acknowledged that his own prayer would imply a deeper relationship with God than he actually had.  It wasn't hard to make the stretch that Russ could just be uttering the right words... just as he had.

And then his thoughts made an ugly turn.

***Why should He listen to you anyway?***

Sam brushed the thought away but unlike earlier, it came back stronger and more accusing.

***What about that girl in the hospital?***

It was like Sam couldn't help but respond.  *What girl? What hospital? I don't remember...*

***You don't remember what it was like to use that razorblade on your throat?*** The cold, hard little voice insisted.  ***Then why should you want to remember that you FAILED ... AGAIN!***

As if attempting to get away from the voice, Sam shifted onto his side, facing away from the other beds where Russ and Skip were succumbing to sleep. But the voice wasn't intimidated or thrown off track as it 'followed' Sam, almost it seemed, perching on his shoulder to be able to whisper in his ear.

*I tried,* he began, reciting the phrase that he knew he'd uttered in his defense too many times in the recent past, whatever that was.

***And you failed. You're useless. Maybe you used to do *some* good, but you’re no better than....***

*...no better than what?* Sam asked the nasty voice, despite himself.

***No better than one of those animatronic characters.  Just following the same script and set of useless actions.  It's all pointless.***

*No, no it's not!  I...  I...* Sam trailed off his argument, the faces of the lost floating before his eyes.  Tiny tears squeezed out of his eyes.  *No.*

***How much longer until Russ is added to the list of failures?*** hissed the voice, a wicked cackle in its tone.  ***How much longer until you finally add Sam Beckett to that list?  How much longer until you admit you can't do it?***

*I...*

***You can't do it alone.  And you are alone, Sam.  You're alone.***

*I can't do it alone,* Sam repeated to himself.  He drifted off to sleep repeating that phrase to himself.

PART TWO

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico

Monday, October 2, 2006

2250 hours

Sam’s advice echoed in Al’s ears as he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber.  He couldn’t help but be struck by the fact that first his wife and now Sam had urged him to speak with Howie.  Guilt surged within him at the memory of Howie’s confused face as Al had fled the Waiting Room to escape the dark memories that had risen within him at Howie’s analogy of his faith being like a lamp illuminating a dark path.  Unfortunately for Al, it was far easier for him to focus on the pitch-blackness of many of the paths he’d trod, looking down at his own feet and behind him instead of ahead at the light Howie was so confident provided guidance.

Al sighed, and turned his steps toward the cafeteria, feeling a slight twinge of hunger and fairly sure that the young Visitor probably felt the same twinge—undoubtedly to a greater degree, Al thought, recalling his days both at Annapolis and MIT and the marathon eating sessions that often took place.  He grabbed burgers, hot dogs, fries, and nachos, as well as a couple of chilled can drinks, then stacked it all and tried to keep it balanced as he made his way to the Waiting Room.  He didn’t even make it out of the cafeteria before he paused at a nearby table to readjust the go-boxes and slip the cans into the pockets of his jacket.

The guards’ eyes widened only slightly at Al’s burden when he returned to the Waiting Room, and they keyed the door open for him.  He stepped inside and Howie looked up from his position sprawled on his stomach atop the bed, the Bible open in front of him.  The young man’s face broke into a broad grin.

“How’d you know I was hungry?” he asked.

Al returned the grin.  “I was your age once, you know.”  He drew to the mirror-top table and spread the boxes across it, now withdrawing the cans from his pockets as well.  “Besides,” he added, “I thought you might accept my apology if I came bearing a peace pipe of sorts.”

For a moment Howie closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of the familiar aromas of the food in the go-boxes on the table, then exhaled.  Opening his eyes again, his gaze went to Al.  He recalled the confusion that had lingered with him for a good portion of the time after his new friend had hurried out of the large white room Howie now occupied.  The Visitor also recalled the strong emotion of their earlier conversation that had precipitated Al’s fleeing from this room, and kept his response light though not a whit less sincere.

“Apology…” he began then let his gaze dart to the go-boxes spread out on the table then back to Al. “…and ‘peace pipe’ are both accepted.”

True to a comment Al had made during his first encounter with the Visitor, two chairs had been brought into Waiting Room.  Seeing the chairs had been placed near the hospital bed that was one of the only two permanent pieces of furniture in the Waiting Room, the other being the mirror-top table, Al started toward them.

“Oh, here,” Howie said, scrambling off the bed and reaching the chairs in a couple of strides. “Let me get them, s--” he began then hesitated. The easy grin appeared once more at the look of mock annoyance (coupled with just the suggestion of a smile that was making Al’s lips twitch minutely) that came over the older man’s face at the near slip. “…Al,” Howie finished as he grabbed the chairs, picked them up and carried them to the table.  The laughter that seemed to be as much a part of Howie as his faith rang out again when Al said, “And if you’re even thinking of holding that chair for me, I may take all these goodies and leave again!”

The Visitor’s eyes danced merrily as he lifted both hands in a show of mock surrender.  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Al,” Howie grinned, mirroring the Observer’s moves so that they both sat down at the same time.  His stomach chose that moment to rumble, and he added, “Besides, my stomach would never forgive me.”

Two new firsts then occurred in the Waiting Room. One was Al sitting down with the Visitor to the impromptu meal, and second was when Howie bowed his head and asked a simple blessing over the food.  After that Howie wasted no time in reaching for one of the containers of nachos.

“I could eat nachos every day of the week,” he declared as he selected a chip then paused, glancing at the two small but generous containers of salsa.  “What are these… hot and mild?”

Now a grin spread across Al’s face as he selected a hamburger from one of the go-boxes and laid it on a napkin in front of himself on the table.  Licking a smudge of mustard from one of his fingers, the Observer said, his dark eyes sparkling, “One of them is what you’d call hot.  The other,” he paused, grinning wider. “Just take a word of advice… don’t let the mild aroma fool you into taking too big a bite of it.”

“What’s in it?” Howie asked with good-natured suspicion, dipping a corner of the chip in the salsa under discussion then lifting it to his nose and sniffing lightly.

Grinning as he picked up his hamburger and prepared to take a bite, Al paused and quipped,  “Just a little fire and brimstone.” His eyes twinkled as he watched Howie, recalling in that moment the last time he had overindulged in the eye-watering salsa made with just a small touch of habenero chilies, and then later that night had paid for that indulgence. 

Taking a bite of his hamburger, he chewed, watching with amusement as Howie gingerly bit just the tip of the chip with the salsa on it.  He chuckled lightly down in his chest at Howie’s wide-eyed reaction as he grabbed one of the chilled drinks, popped it open and took a quick gulp.

Swallowing the bite of food, Al grinned as Howie carefully lifted the container of the fiery salsa and pushed it far enough away so he didn’t accidentally dip into it again by mistake. “Too hot?” Al quipped lightly then took another bite of his hamburger then opened his own drink.

Popping a chip loaded with the milder salsa into his mouth, Howie took the ribbing in stride, saying, “Don’t get me wrong, Al. I love hot salsa, but that stuff… that stuff is ridiculous!”

For a while the two men just ate and drank and chatted about inconsequential things with an ease that would have made anyone looking into the room think that they were close friends of longstanding.

“So what are you studying in school?” Al asked, just to make conversation. His foray into what Ziggy had uncovered upon Howie’s first mention of his name had already informed him.

“Drama. I’m minoring in Communications, though. I figure if my big dreams don’t pan out, I can always fall back on doing PR or something,” he rolled his eyes, showing his hope that he wouldn’t have to ‘fall back’ on his minor.

When Howie didn’t elaborate, focusing instead on the hot dog he’d begun devouring, Al prompted, “What are your big dreams?”

“Mmm,” Howie gulped down the mouthful of wiener and bun and swigged cola. “Well, I want to try my hand at stand-up, see how that goes. And then, maybe, a film or two would be great, or a series.” He shrugged and grinned. “I don’t have to follow in Robin Williams’ footsteps, but I sure wouldn’t mind. Heck, even reaching Jeff Foxworthy’s status would be fine by me!”

“Stand-up, huh?” Al said. He nibbled a fry thoughtfully. “Well, try out some of your material on me, then.”

“Oh.” Howie sat up in his chair. He polished off the dog and brushed his fingers clean on a napkin before settling back in the chair and regarding Al with an insouciant grin. “I guess I’ll go for the spiel I used at the Campus Crusade banquet last Spring.” He closed his eyes, as if drawing forth the script and opened them to look at Al impishly. “If it’s not that good, you’ll have to forgive the holes in my memory.”

Al snorted and shook his head, swirling a nacho chip in the “fire and brimstone” salsa—advising himself he’d just have the one.

“It’s a different world on the dating scene for us Christians,” Howie began. “For one thing, your pick-up lines are different. You can’t exactly walk up to some girl after Sunday School and say, ‘Hey baby, breakfast, your place or mine?’ Nah, you’ve gotta get a bit more creative… get a bit more spiritual about it.” He affected a suave expression and jiggled his eyebrows meaningfully as he said, “Hey… how’s about me and you read a little Song of Solomon?”

He paused expectantly and flicked his eyes toward Al when the expected laughter didn’t come. Al leaned forward. “Was that the joke?”

Howie lowered his head and shoved a few fries in his mouth. “Uh, yeah. Cracked ‘em up at the banquet.” He looked back at Al and shrugged sheepishly. “Guess my material’s not ready for a widespread audience. You, uh, you aren’t familiar with Song of Solomon are you?”

“Not really, no,” Al admitted.

Howie smirked. “It’s the Bible’s book about sex.”

“It’s what?” Al choked on his cola. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” Howie said, earnestly. He got up and crossed to the bed and lifted the Bible, flipping past Psalms and Proverbs to the small book and passing the Bible to Al.

Al skimmed a few pages and let out a low whistle. “What have I been missing?” he smirked. “Never read many of the tiny books,” Al said as he returned the loaned Bible to Howie.

“Oh, some of the best stuff is in the tiny books,” Howie said, moving to rest the Bible on the foot of the bed again. “James—only 5 chapters, but man, oh man, talk about giving you some words to live by! ‘Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like,’”⁶ quoted Howie, standing over the table and looking down as he sat back down.

Because they’d shifted the boxes around, Howie had a clear shot of the glass… and of the strange face looking back at him.

Howie's quote struck Al as an odd but very apt analogy of what the Swiss-cheese effect was for Sam.  Every time his friend finished a leap but before he began the next leap, it was like he forgot what his reflection looked like.  He pondered it a moment longer then set that notion aside for pondering some other time.  He also didn't miss the way Howie was gazing down at the tabletop. To the Visitor's obvious question, "That's Sam?" Al stood up and walked around to stand beside Howie and look down at the reflection.  It was odd but in a way, as he gazed down at his own reflection beside Sam's reflection, it made him feel closer to his friend.

"Yeah, that's Sam," he affirmed. As he studied his friend's reflection, he added, "He's been through a lot."

Howie heard the touch of emotion in Al's voice, just the quality of it bringing back the moment when the older man had practically fled this room not that long ago. 

"He's not alone, Al," Howie told him softly, still gazing at the tabletop.

"You got that right," Al said. "I've been there for him ever since... all this started."

"I don't doubt that," Howie responded, "but that wasn't what I meant."  He looked at the reflection of the two old friends and then raised his head to look at his new friend standing beside him.  Al lifted his head and looked directly into Howie's eyes.  "You know how I told you I wasn't scared because I knew God was with me?  Well, He's with Sam, too.  I mean, He has to be.  Why else would Sam be doing this?  Why would he be in my life at this time?"  Howie took a deep breath.  "I have to believe that there's a Plan involved."

Al wasn't surprised by the direction the conversation was turning, especially not after the last time.  He wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with it, but he vowed he would stick it out this time.

"You've got a lot of faith," he observed.  "I wish Sam could feel as sure that he's not alone right now as you do."

Howie opened his mouth then closed it again, thinking a moment.  "Don't put me on a pedestal, not even one made of faith, Al," he said softly.  "For as strong as my faith is, I stumble more often than you might think."  Glancing at Al he said, "I'm just me, Al. Howie Lockwood, class clown, stand-up wanna be, complete with problems and whatever else came with me into this life."  He shrugged lightly. "The only real difference in my faith from yours or Sam's... or Russ'... is how far I've come in my relationship with God."  Looking back down at the table at the reflection of the man now walking in his life, he added, "Sometimes we all just need reminding."

"That's interesting that you mentioned Russ," Al observed.  "I really think that's the reason Sam ended up in your life... to help Russ.  The thing I don't get is... how?  What does Russ need help with?"

Howie twisted his mouth and started to sit down again.  Al took the cue and crossed back to his own chair.  The Visitor leaned forward with his elbows earnestly angled against the table's edge.

"Russ is searching for something.  What, I couldn't tell you.  I don't *think* he's ever told me--'course I'm not sure I'd necessarily remember if he did.  But I do know he watches me like a hawk."

"Which leads me to question the wisdom of the Plan in having Sam take your place.  I mean, Howie, you've got to understand that Sam is a man of science.  He's not exactly a churchgoer."  Al stopped and sighed.  Obviously, Howie hadn't been able to impact Russ the first time around.  "What I mean is... if Russ is searching for something, and I guess it's fair to say he's searching for something in terms of his faith, right?"

Howie nodded.

Al continued, "Why put Sam there?"

The young man considered Al's question before looking up at him. "I really don't know Al," he said. He thought again and it was then that a thought crossed his mind. "Has Sam had had any problems lately?"

Just the question was enough to cause a sudden cavalcade of flashbacks to Sam's last several leaps. It was enough to bring back his own morose moments just before this leap had initiated.

"Yeah," Al said finally, his tone more somber than he intended. "Don't get me wrong. Sam's been in tough situations before. Some of them real hair-raisers. But..." he shook his head slowly. "Nothing like I've seen in the last few... situations."  He chose his words carefully.  No matter how much he was drawn to trust the young man, there were still some things that just couldn't be discussed with Howie or any other Visitor.  "There have been times when I wished I could switch places with him."  Glancing down at Sam's reflection again he added, "I know how to survive. Sam... like I said, he's a man of science. He's not street smart. There have been times when I'd have given anything to trade places with him." He chuckled, a somewhat sad sound. "It's been hard watching him... grow up, you might say. Kinda like watching my own kids grow up."

Howie just nodded thoughtfully.  "How many kids do you have?" he quietly asked.

"Five," he answered.  "All girls.”  He quickly added, to divert things, "My youngest is in graduate school.  We're watching the grandkids grow up now."

"Hard to let go and watch them leave the nest, huh?" Howie asked.  "My mom cries like a baby every time I leave for a new semester."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you whether I cried or not," smirked Al.

Howie laughed.  "They all do well?"

Al nodded.  "Yeah, they're all doing great."  He thought briefly of Julianna's troubles with her ex-fiancée, and of Jacqueline with her string of bad marriages.  As it always did, his mind went next to Christa's heart problem and he shoved down a worry that she'd over-exert herself with late hours researching her thesis.  The twins, Elizabeth and Victoria, seemed to have it all together recently, which gave him no end of relief.

"You taught them well," Howie commented, drawing him back to the conversation at hand.  "They knew they could count on you and Beth for guidance?"

"Yeah," Al nodded.

Howie inhaled deeply, "The same way Sam knows he can count on you for guidance."

"Yeah," Al agreed.

"Did you help your kids when they went to college?" Howie asked.

"Of course, I did," Al came back quickly as the question replayed in his head. "Well, I don't mean we helped them with their classes or stuff like that. But, we jumped through all the hoops to help them get into college... college applications... stuff like that. After they were settled on campus, they were on their own."

Howie smiled, thinking back to his first days on campus. "My Dad threatened to make Mom walk to the airport the day they were flying back home."  Both men shared a chuckle over that.  "But you did let go and let them do it on their own, right?"

Al turned slightly to face Howie. "Is there a point you're driving at?"

Howie met Al's direct gaze. "All I'm saying is that there are times, tough times, when you have to just turn loose and trust that you or your loved ones will get through the rough patches."

The conversation was definitely thought provoking. As if it had been waiting for the right moment, Al asked again, "Are you certain there's nothing you can think of what it is that's bothering Russ?"  Even as he asked the question, Al asked another question.  "How long have you known Russ?"

"I've known who Russ was ever since I started attending Ohio State.  He's a year ahead of me, but we all knew who he was, or who his family was, at any rate. Anyway, last year he came to a Campus Crusade event and went up during the altar call.  I was working as one of the counselors, and I was there when Russ prayed to accept Jesus in his heart.  Ever since then he's been real diligent about working at his faith--coming to Bible studies, going to church and stuff."

"And going on vacations with a Christian concert series attached to them," put in Al.

"Yeah," grinned Howie.  "His folks were glad to see the partying die down.  When he told his Dad we were thinking of coming down here, Mr. Lovet-Hurston paid for our rooms at the Contemporary.  All we had to do was scrounge up admission and airfare money."

"Was Russ excited about the trip?" Al asked.

"Yeah, he was," Howie said.  "But, you know, as it got closer and closer, that's when he started getting quieter.  Like I said, Russ usually keeps to himself... I mean about personal stuff.  He's a real friendly guy, but if he's going through anything you'd really never know it.  He hides it well."

*Sounds a lot like me,* Al thought, aware of his own personality enough to recognize his own M.O. where personal problems were concerned.  Keep it hidden, don't let it interfere, and above all, don't let anyone else know about it.  It had taken years before he'd finally given Beth the key to the gate that led inside his soul.

Picking up on something Howie had said, Al repeated it. "You said that Russ has been watching you like a hawk.  Any reason why that you can think of?"

Howie shook his head. "Nothing jumps out at me."

Al thought a moment. "Any particular times when you've noticed him hanging around? Maybe following you?  Like after a class or after church... anything?"

Now Howie became thoughtful. "Nothing specific. But, I do remember the last Bible study class. I was talking to a guy who had come as a guest. When I started to leave, I noticed that Russ was standing off to one side just listening.  I introduced him to... the guy and then he left."

For Al, the more the conversation went on, it seemed like between he and Howie they were taking two steps forward then falling a step back.  His instincts were telling him more and more strongly that Howie, whether he realized it or not, was a link, perhaps even the key to Russ' problem.

"How would you describe Russ'... relationship with God?" Al asked.

"Immature," Howie said.

Al's eyes widened and he leaned back a moment in his chair.  Howie hurried to clarify.

"I don't mean that as a slam.  What I mean is, Russ has only been a Christian for about a year.  He's what you might call a 'baby Christian.'  He's still learning what it's all about, still learning how to follow God...  maturing as a Christian.  To use the Apostle Paul's analogy, he's still on milk... hasn't graduated to solid food yet, much less a gourmet meal."

"And where are you?" Al asked, curious.

Howie laughed, "Gerber baby food, maybe the occasional bit of table food.  I've got a bit more 'spiritual maturity' than Russ does, but I'm not having the fine dining that Billy Graham has!"

Al grinned.  "How long have you been a Christian?" he asked.

Howie didn't even hesitate. "It was at the summer camp our church runs every year. I was fifteen. I'd volunteered to help out. Not really a counselor. It was the next to last night before the end of camp. I was talking to the youth leader and we were talking and it was like I knew it was what I wanted."

"So that's been..."

"It was six years in June," he said.  "So you see, Al. I'm still a toddler in the faith. The walk is steadier but still apt to stumble."  Seeing the older man nodding, he turned the question back on him. "How about you, Al?" he asked. “You 'eating' at the grown-up table?"

Al hesitated before answering.  Howie was rattling at the gate, and Al wasn't sure he wanted to let him in.  But he wasn't going to dash away from the young man again.  He sighed.

"There was a time when I refused to have anything to do with God, Howie," he said.  "I felt He'd let me down and lied to me."

Howie was stunned.  "When was that?" he asked.  Shock covered his face and he gasped audibly when Al answered.

"When I was ten."  He smiled wryly at Howie's expression.  "I have to be honest, it was only when I finally came home to my wife from Vietnam that I even entertained the idea that God might actually give a damn about me.  Pardon me," he added, concerned he might have offended Howie's sensibilities.

Howie waved off the apology.  "Something happened to change your mind, though.  I can sense that you have faith--even if I didn't see the signs that your Bible's well-used."

Al shrugged.  "Coming home to Beth was a big one.  In the ca--in 'Nam, things got so desperate that I guess I gave God one more chance.  I prayed every day that I could make it just one more day to get home to her.  The more days I prayed that, the more desperate the prayers got.  And when I woke up in the hospital back in the states to see Beth at my side, holding my hand..."  Al blinked furiously as he trailed off.

"God gave you a second chance as well," Howie observed.

"Yeah," Al nodded, subtly rubbing at his eyes.  "Anyway, once Jackie was born, Beth insisted that our kids would be raised in church.  After a while, it got to be less of a chore for me.  And then, one day I realized that talking to God was becoming more natural."

Howie listened as much to the tone of Al's voice as he did the words he was saying; he heard a lot that wasn't being said though he had no idea of the substance of it. He didn't have to know it to understand an important aspect of it.

"So even when you were in Vietnam and you didn't think He was even listening, God was there with you," he made the simple statement.  "Even when you were angry at Him, God was still there."

Al just nodded, needing a moment to clear his throat. "Yeah, I guess He was. Though why he persisted with a hard-head like me..."

Howie hoped what he was about to say wouldn't offend Al. "God uses whatever it takes to get our attention."

Al prickled at the gently spoken observation. "Even if it means..."

"Even if it means whatever you went through in Vietnam, Al," Howie interrupted, keeping his voice even and his eyes fixed on the dark eyes that were narrowed at him.  "I'm not belittling what you went through in any way, Al. But a loving parent sometimes has to let the child fail in order to teach them... or show them how much they love them." He paused to lick his lips.  "I remember hearing one of the Sunday School teachers at our church telling another of the ladies that sometimes God puts you in a position so that the only place you have to look is up."

"Yeah, well He sure as hell succeeded in that, didn't he?" Al said bitterly.  A chill ran down his spine, spreading across the scars that laced his back, and he shivered.  He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"You said that you wished you could take Sam's place sometimes because you knew how to survive," Howie said quietly, a wisdom beyond his years tingeing his voice.  "Where do you think you learned to survive?  Don't misunderstand me, Al, I don't believe for an instant that God took any pleasure in what you went through."

Al shook his head.  "Even when I had my back turned on Him, I never thought He had malicious intent.  I just figured He didn't care."

"He cared, He CARES," Howie insisted.  "About you, about Sam... about us all."

The words came out without warning. "Well it seems to me that lately, He's been a little heavy-handed with Sam," Al came back sharply. "He's a good man. He uses the genius that God gave him to help people out. But does He give him a break? No. In fact, it seems like these past few months, it's like He's doing his level best to break Sam."  Al stood up from his chair and moved away a few steps, paced a short distance then came back to Howie. "Sam's... hanging onto a thin little thread of hope but I honestly don't see how much longer he can hang on and keep going. Now you tell me, Howie. How's that caring about what happens to Sam if He really cares about him?"

"Remember where I was, Al.  I was on vacation with my friends.  Sam's in good hands, Al.  I can't tell you how much my batteries get recharged after a good prayer session with those guys."  He gave Al a small smile.  "And he's at Disney World.  I can't think of a better place to get away from your problems and lose yourself in the magic of imagination."

"Except he's not away from problems," Al pointed out, mentally conceding what Howie said.  "There's still the matter of Russ."

Howie sighed as he, too, stood up from his chair and made a slow circuit around the large white room, rubbing his hands together as he walked.  He was just making his second turn around the room when he heard a low chirping noise; his gaze went immediately to Al. There was no denying he was curious as he watched Al press a button on the slim but unusual wristband on his left wrist alongside his wrist watch.  He nodded when Al said, "Excuse me. I need to check something. Won't be five minutes."

Watching the older man stride purposefully to the door and exit, Howie's thoughts were tumbling from one point to the other of the conversation between he and Al.  He closed his eyes, standing still even as he willed his inner self to be quiet.

Outside in the hall, Al moved a short distance from the Waiting Room door before asking aloud, "What the problem, Ziggy?"

"As per normal leap protocol," Ziggy's smooth contralto voice filled the hall. "I have been monitoring Dr. Beckett's vital signs."

"Is there a problem?" Al demanded.

"His brainwave patterns are more active than is normal when he is sleeping," Ziggy stated.  "While that does not indicate that Dr. Beckett is in physical danger, it would probably be wise to at least do a bed check on him, don't you think, Admiral?"

Normally, Al would likely have told Ziggy to continue monitoring his best friend's brainwave signals and vital signs. But given everything leading up to this leap, he decided to err on the side of caution.

"Tell Dom to bring the Imaging Chamber online," the Observer said, turning and heading back toward the Waiting Room.  "I'll be there in three minutes."

Returning to the Waiting Room, Al quickly regained entrance to it. However when the door slid open and he stepped inside, the only word that crossed his lips was, "Howie..."

For a moment all he could do was to stand and stare at the sight of Howie Lockwood on his knees, his head bowed and his hands folded in prayer.  The way his lips moved, Al had no doubt he was praying...but for what, or rather whom?

Slowly, quietly, Al drew near to Howie, and stretched a tentative hand toward the young man's shoulder, hovering just above it and not making contact.  Howie's brows knit closer together as he continued praying, and words started becoming more audible as the young man's concentration intensified.

"And, Lord, I just ask that You give peace right now.  Lord, in Jesus’ name, I bind the forces that would cause distress.  I know You have a purpose and a plan, and I ask that all be made open to You and to Your holy will.  In Jesus' name and for His sake, Amen."

Howie slowly opened his eyes and raised his head, jumping only slightly at the sight of Al standing beside him. 

"Were you praying for Russ?" Al asked.

"No," Howie shook his head.  "I was praying for Sam."

"Sam?"  Al blinked in surprise.

"I just... felt like he needed prayer," Howie said simply.

"I was just about to go check on him," Al said, leaving out the reason why, but his wristband chirped again.  "Excuse me," he said again to Howie, retreating only as far as the doorway this time.  "What is it now, Ziggy?  I'm on my way," he whispered.

Ziggy's voice emanated softly from the wristband, so there was no need to worry whether Howie would hear it.  "Dr. Beckett's brainwaves have settled back down into a regular REM pattern," she said.  "He appears to be sleeping comfortably again."  The computer cleared her throat and added a bit testily, "It is the opinion of Dr. Calavicci that he should be allowed to continue resting, and she'd like to know if you plan on coming to bed soon."

"Tell her not to wait up for me," Al said, beyond curious at the coincidence of Howie's prayer and the turnaround.  "I'll get there sooner or later."

He flicked the switch on his wristband and turned back to face Howie.  “I’m going to check on Sam real quick, but I’ll be back in about ten minutes or so.  Why don’t you go ahead and finish up eating?”

“Okay,” Howie said, amiably.  He smiled at Al as he got to his feet and returned to the table.  “Want me to save you anything?”

“Nah, eat whatever you want,” Al said.  “I’ll be back.”

He left the Waiting Room and headed straight for the Imaging Chamber.  He was relieved to hear that Sam was resting comfortably again, but, just as he would do when his daughters were small and disturbed by nightmares, Al wanted to see for himself.  He nodded at the technician who powered up the IC, and coded in to appear in the hallway outside Sam’s room.  He didn’t want the sound and light of the Door to disturb his friend.

Al appeared in the hallway of the Contemporary Resort facing out over the grand lobby and concourse.  As he looked down at the monorail tracks, he smiled, remembering the time twenty years ago when he and Beth had stayed at this very resort with their girls.  He didn’t allow himself the luxury of a trip down memory lane, though, turning and walking through the closed door into the darkened room.

It was only a short walk before Al stopped beside the rollaway bed on which Sam slept.  The Leaper’s face was smooth, no evidence of the traumatic thoughts which had led Ziggy to alert him.  Al watched his friend sleep for several minutes before he was satisfied that Beth’s interpretation of Ziggy’s data was correct and Sam was indeed sleeping comfortably and should be left to it.

“Rest well, buddy,” whispered Al.  He pressed a button on the handlink and popped back to the hallway before opening the Door and returning to the Project.

Exiting the Imaging Chamber, Al returned the handlink to the technician and headed bank to the Waiting Room. Entering the large white room, a glance revealed that someone had been in to clear away the remains of the meal he and Howie had shared earlier. But his attention was caught by the sound of the Visitor asking, “How’s Sam?”

“He’s fine… sleeping okay now,” Al responded as he ventured further into the Waiting Room.  As he went, he noted the concern on the young man’s face.  A part of him wanted to delve further into what had pressed him to pray for Sam but he set that aside.  As much as Sam’s well-being meant to him, he knew that gaining more information about Russ, even in bits and pieces out of Howe’s temporarily Swiss-cheesed memory would be even better than satisfying his own questions.

“Howie, why did you pray for Sam, instead of Russ?” he asked outright.

Howie paused in his transit toward Al.  “Because I felt led to pray for him,” he said.

“But why not for Russ?” Al pressed the point, his expression thoughtful as well as questioning.  “When you and I first talked, you said that you had a burden for Russ.  And since it’s becoming more apparent that Russ is the reason for you being here, it seems only logical, at least to me, that you would be focusing your prayers on Russ.”

“Al,” Howie began.  “I said I had a burden for Russ, and that hasn’t changed.” He paused a moment. “I still feel in my heart that Russ is searching for something but whatever it is, it isn’t being revealed to me to allow me to help him.”

“So what happens to Russ now?”

Howie shrugged. “That’s between him and God…”

Al frowned at the seemingly flippant answer.  “That seems a little... casual,” he said, his attention sharpening on the young man’s tired but nonetheless alert face.

“What I meant, Al, was that it’s not for me to decide that what seems to be to be the best way, is best for Russ.”  He could see that Al wasn’t quite sure about the explanation.  “Maybe,” he suggested softly, “the help Russ needs, more than my prayers or intervention, is something that only Sam can provide.”

“Well he can’t provide any help without information,” Al went back to the point again.  “I need to know more about Russ’ problem.”

“Then maybe Sam should be talking to Russ instead of you trying to pull it out of my memory, which isn’t all that complete right now.”

“Listen up,” Al came back sharply, rubbed decidedly the wrong way by what was to him an insensitive, impudent response. “I know Sam Beckett better than most.  I know what he needs and when I don’t, I go and get that information or whatever he needs wherever it might be. Even if it means I have to grill whoever is in this Waiting Room until the cows come home.  I’ve never given up on my friend, and I don’t intend to start now.  Sam needs me and…”

“Maybe this is one time when Sam needs God more than he needs you, Al,” Howie answered evenly.

The answer drained the slowly growing irritation faster than it had begun. “What?”

“Maybe it’s time for you to let go and let God show Sam what he needs this time.”

“And Russ?”

“God won’t forget him, Al,” Howie assured him.  “But maybe Sam needs helping more than Russ does in this instance.  And, that will help him to help Russ.”

Al didn’t know how to respond.  It was obvious Howie neither could nor would provide any additional information about Russ.  Though he’d gotten a bit more insight into Russ’ personality during their conversation, Al couldn’t say that he had enough information to go on to be able to tell Sam exactly what he had to do to prevent the disappearance, nor what that disappearance would entail or what had precipitated it.  It seemed he had no choice but to “let go and let God show Sam”—and he wasn’t the least bit happy about it.

“That’s not the way I operate,” Al said.  “How do you suggest I present that to Sam when he asks me what he’s there to do?  How am I supposed to just let God handle it all and clue Sam in?”

“God may yet open whatever door you need to help Sam… but you have to trust that He has it all under control.”  Howie paused, and asked, “Are you familiar with the song ‘His Eye is on the Sparrow’?”  When Al nodded, Howie continued, “Do you know where that comes from?”

“One of the gospels, I think,” Al slowly said.

“Yep,” affirmed Howie.  He crossed to retrieve the Bible and returned to sit at the table, where he set the worn black leather book in front of him.  The sight of his own last name embossed on the cover seemed to taunt Al as he was confronted by the need to trust in faith rather than relying on the science, history, and facts that had always been the touchstone of the Project and Sam’s Leaping to date.  Howie flipped through the thin pages and began to read aloud, “Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not worth much more than they?”⁷  He stopped and looked at Al.  “Isn’t Sam worth much more than they?  God won’t abandon him, and God won’t abandon Russ.  For whatever reason, and I believe firmly that He has a reason… Sam has been put into a position to touch Russ.  There’s something that Sam has experienced that I haven’t, something that only he can share with Russ.  I just feel that to the core of me, Al.  And I know as sure as I know that the sun will rise in the morning, that just as God brought Sam into this… God will bring him out of it… He’ll bring us all out of it.”

Al listened thoughtfully and slowly crossed to sit in the chair across from Howie again.  Without uttering a word, Howie slid the Bible across to Al, who found himself reading the passage in Matthew 6 that assured all who read it that God had everything under control and there was no need to worry… that, indeed, there was no profit in worrying.  Al raised his head and looked at Howie, who was gently watching him.

“It’s not an easy thing to do,” said Al, simply.

“Of course not,” agreed Howie.  “Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, is it?”

“Especially when you care so much about someone,” finished Al.  He rubbed his forehead wearily.  “Okay, I’ll quit grilling you about Russ.  But,” and he paused to raise a warning finger at Howie, “if you remember anything… anything at all… you call out and one of the security cameras will pick it up and let me know.  Got it?”

“Got it,” smiled Howie. 

PART THREE

Contemporary Resort

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

12:03 AM

Sam gradually came awake in the darkened room, the sound of Skip’s raucous snoring counterpoint to Russ’ soft rumblings.  He rubbed his face and stared at the darkened ceiling for a few moments, thoughts appearing, unbidden, to race through his mind.

Two disturbing sensations of a blade in his hand came first—the resulting actions mercifully blocked from his memory, but he knew that damage—horrible, fatal damage, had been the end result.  He shook off the memories, refusing to journey down that path, and unfortunately for him, another cruel thought took its place.  The harsh reality of evils faced down again and again… a baby dying in his arms that shouldn’t have, tortures suffered at the hands of a nemesis—which then brought to mind tortures he’d been forced to inflict on his own best friend.  He recalled next dysfunctional families, sadistic boyfriends, serial killers… some of which he’d been affected by… some of which he’d Leaped into.  As the memories came back to him of those Leaps in which he’d actually lost some of himself, unable to control his actions as remnants of his host took over, Sam sat up suddenly in the bed. 

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force down the memory of the evil that was Lee Harvey Oswald, the bitter taste of the man’s hatred still sullying Sam’s own spirit.  Why was he remembering that Leap now?  Tears began to spill from Sam’s eyes and he buried his face in his knees.

Sam sniffled, and glanced at the sleeping boys in the two beds in the room.  He didn’t want to disturb them.  Sam got up from the rollaway and took the few short steps it took to get to the bathroom, where he snatched a few tissues before creeping to the sliding glass door.  He slid open the door as quietly as he could, and stepped outside onto the balcony, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the patio chair outside.

He blew his nose and wiped his eyes, and looked out across the panoramic view to the now still and quiet Magic Kingdom.  The lights were dimmed now, the park virtually empty.  As Sam stared and concentrated, he noticed maintenance workers moving around like elves in the night, making repairs, cleaning, painting… doing all the hard work and mundane tasks it took to keep the magic alive from day to day.

As he watched them move from task to task, he began to liken it his own Leaps.  Sometimes the tasks were big, sometimes they were small.  But they each had to be done.  Where the Magic Kingdom had all these workers to help each other with the task at hand, in Leaping he was the only worker.

‘Well, I’m not the only worker,’ Sam realized, as Al came to mind.  ‘But Al can’t exactly pick up a paintbrush alongside me, as it were.’

“But why me?  Why me here and now?  What am I supposed to do?” Sam whispered to the soft night.

The thought came unbidden, Why not you?

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, though,” Sam said softly, still speaking aloud.

He almost expected the responsive thoughts to give him an answer, and he chuckled softly when only the faint sound of a hammer fixing a spike on the railroad tracks answered.

“Okay, since I’m not going to get an answer, I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own,” murmured Sam.  He began ticking off what he knew on his fingers.  “I’m Howie Lockwood.  I’m on vacation with my friends at Walt Disney World.  Al says I’m here for Russ, to keep him from disappearing.”

He looked at the Magic Kingdom again, and shook his head.  “How does a young man disappear from such an open place where everyone and everything is so visible?  I suppose he could’ve blended in with the crowd… but where would he go… and how?”

Sam turned his head to look at the Seven Seas Lagoon, recalling the ferryboat, which made runs to and from the parking lot.  “Okay… maybe he left the park without telling anyone.  But how did he leave?  Did he hitch a ride with a family?  Was he kidnapped?  Why wouldn’t they leave a ransom note—if they had the son of such a tycoon?”  Sam shook his head.  “If that had been the case, there would have been something in the newspapers about the kidnapping… and there isn’t anything.”

He sat there, pondering the different scenarios that were possible for Russ’ disappearance.  One by one, he discarded each of them, eventually ending back up at his original question, “What happened to him?  Where did he go?”

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico

Tuesday, October 3, 2006

0520 hours

Once the tension had lifted, Al and Howie had begun relating to each other in the friendly manner that had marked their first encounter.  The wisdom of the older man and his life experiences and the enthusiastic faith and energy of the younger man had come together in the hours that had followed as each drew and learned from the other. 

Some of the conversation had been light and humorous, as Al shared stories of Annapolis with Howie, who in turn, shared stories of his escapades as the class clown, getting into some scrapes that, Al assured him, would have led to his expulsion from the strict Naval Academy.  Other aspects had ventured down the spiritual road again, with Howie occasionally passing Al his own Bible to read a passage and gain a new insight into it.

It was after one such moment that Al looked up from the passage to see Howie’s eyes slide closed as he wearily propped his head up against his hand.  Al glanced at his watch and started when he realized it was 5:20 in the morning.  He closed the Bible and stood, gently touching Howie’s shoulder.

“Howie, why don’t you go to bed, kiddo?”

“Mm-hmm,” mumbled Howie in agreement, his barely-opened eyes continuing to drift shut.  Al smiled as he watched sleep continue to call Howie away.  Stepping around the table, Al lifted the young man’s arm and draped it around his own shoulder, helping Howie to his feet.  He walked him to the bed and nudged Howie onto the bed.  Howie sat, and then fell into the pillow.  Al picked up Howie’s feet and placed them on the bed, then drew the sheet over the exhausted boy’s shoulders.

‘I haven’t tucked a kid in for years,’ Al smiled to himself as he left the Waiting Room. 

The Project was silent, not yet buzzing to life with the morning’s activities, and Al didn’t encounter anyone as he returned, finally, to his quarters.

Entering the dark rooms, he made his way by memory to the bedroom where Beth lay sleeping.  No point in joining her, though, Al thought.  A shower was all he really needed to face the day.  He switched on the bathroom light and gathered his clothes, smiling at her peaceful face before closing the door and showering.

When he emerged, clean and refreshed, wearing a pair of navy blue slacks and a mottled blue and burgundy shirt, Al switched off the bathroom light, returning darkness to the room.  He stepped quietly to the side of the bed and bent to kiss Beth’s cheek.  She smiled in her sleep as his lips made contact with her skin, and Al smiled in return before kissing her again.

He left without making a sound, and returned to the Control Room, where the technician on duty automatically handed him the handlink.

“The Imaging Chamber’s already online for you, sir.”

“Thanks,” said Al.  “I hate to wake Sam up…”

“He’s awake, Admiral,” came Ziggy’s dulcet response.

“He is?”  Al frowned.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He did not appear to be in any type of distress or danger.”

“Fine.  I’ll check on him and see about that for myself, thank you.”  He stepped into the Imaging Chamber.

PART FOUR

Disney’s Contemporary Resort Hotel

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

1:02 AM

As the Imaging Chamber door opened a minute or so later, Al just reaffirmed to himself that no matter that Ziggy was probably right on the money about Sam --as well as the thought Howie had left him with-- he had to see Sam with his own eyes.

Stepping out of the Imaging Chamber door, he glanced around, his eyes adjusting to the natural darkness of the night, remotely and gently illuminated by the lowered lights of the park below. Looking around, he saw Sam sitting in one of the patio chairs, his gaze fixed on some distance point out in the night sky.  Moving closer to him, he started to speak then hesitated when he saw what looked suspiciously like the vague remnants of tear tracks on his friend's face.

"Sam," he called his friend's name softly, looking closer at the other man. "You okay? What are you doing out here at..." Al checked the handlink.  "1:03 in the morning?  What's wrong?"

For the smallest instant, Sam felt a flicker of amusement and he laughed briefly.  "I'm fine... Dad," he tried teasing lightly.  "I just... needed to think about some... things."

"And you couldn't do that laying in bed?" Al asked, ignoring the teasing that Sam was using to try to cover whatever had been bothering him.

Sam chuckled softly.  "You obviously popped directly out here.  Skip and Russ snore to wake the dead.  Besides," he grew serious and gestured at the view beyond the balcony, "I was trying to understand why Russ would disappear from a place like this."  Sam stared out at the Polynesian and Grand Floridian resorts.  "Al, it's really like being in another world here, isn't it?"

"It is," Al agreed.  He reached for the chair he kept in the Imaging Chamber and dragged it around so that it appeared he was sitting in the patio chair on the other side of the small table from Sam.  "When Beth and I stayed here in '86, I used to take my morning coffee out here and watch the monorail while the girls got ready."

"You vacationed at Disney?" Sam asked.

"Yeah.  During Starbright... I'm surprised you don't remember," Al grinned.  "It was Christmastime and you practically banned me from the Project if I didn't take a vacation.  Said I was biting everyone's head off and needed a break.  Beth agreed with you and decided that a dose of Disney magic was what I needed."  He gestured widely to take in the Contemporary Resort.  "We stayed in this resort, actually... on... the fifth floor.  It was great... monorail access... we didn't touch the rental car once.  Just rode the monorail to the Magic Kingdom and to EPCOT."

Sam studied Al's face, noticing how the side trip down memory lane to a younger, happier time with his family had erased some of the fine worry lines that had been on his face when he'd popped in a moment ago.  The leaper also wished that he did remember the time the Observer was talking about but, as was for the greatest part the norm, he didn't.  But that didn't mean he couldn't coax Al to refresh that memory.  Right now, just about anything was preferable to the thoughts and memories that had driven him out onto the balcony.

"I'll bet it was a real circus," he said, grinning softly. "You and a roomful of little girls." Seeing Al's expression lighten even more he said, "Were they agreeable on which rides to go on?"

Al snorted, which didn't harm the grin on his face.  "Are you kidding?  Jackie wanted to go on Space Mountain, Victoria drove us nuts for the Peter Pan Flight... she rode that ride six times!  And Lizzie wanted to do the Pirates of the Caribbean." He shook his head, remembering the insane, if ultimately, happy, days of that vacation.  "And Christa!" He shook his head again. "We made the trek between the Country Bear Jamboree and the It's A Small World ride so many times, by the time we left, I could've walked it in my sleep!"

Listening to his friend talking had begun to help ease the tightness across Sam's shoulders.  He had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from bellowing when Al recalled, "It was the third... or was it the fourth?... trip on the Small World ride.  And about halfway through it, with all that singing going... you know the song, right?  Anyway, just about then Christa decides to join in. But what comes out of her mouth?"

"What?" Sam insisted, already chuckling under his breath.  In the next instant he laughed aloud, this time slapping both hands over his mouth, his body shaking with suppressed laughter as Al drawled, "There was ... bud on da saddle...!"

Sam stopped laughing long enough to ask, "Let me guess... that's from the Country Bears?"

Al rolled his eyes and nodded, "Oh yes...’Blood on the Saddle.’  Big Al's signature song."

"Big Al?!"  Sam exploded, doubling over and covering his face with his hands as he was consumed with laughter.  He hooted and guffawed, and when he came up for air, he wiped tiny tears from his red cheeks.

Al grinned at his friend.  Not only was he enjoying the memory, he was gratified to see Sam laughing so heartily.  "How old was she?" Sam asked.

"Four," smiled Al.  "Cute as a button, and you should have seen her with the characters!  Beth's got a picture in the den of all four girls with Mickey Mouse, and Christa's looking at him with adoration on her face."

Al had an expression on his own face that told Sam that special moment for Christa, who Sam *did* recall had a heart condition and would have been prohibited from experiencing any of the more thrilling attractions (height requirement aside), had touched his heart and was a fond memory for him.  Sam noticed that Al's gaze had gone towards the castle across the way.

"I know they're celebrating the 25th Anniversary," Al said, "and that's why they've got it decorated to look like a big pink cake.  But Sam, you should see it when it's in its regular state.  Blue roofs on the turrets, splendid white.  The girls' jaws dropped as soon as they caught sight of it and..." Al paused, smiling at the memory, his eyes misting over.  He blinked and turned to look at Sam.  "You really haven't seen Disney 'til you've seen it through the eyes of your child."

For a couple of minutes the atmosphere on the balcony was lifted, each man considering the carefreeness of childhood that seemed to be such an ingrained prerequisite of the magical 'other world' that was Walt Disney World, that it clung to memories of days long gone, keeping them as fresh and magical as if they had just happened.  Yet for as much as Sam needed the lightness, it was as if those memories and whispers that had invaded his sleep weren't going to let him forget them.  Like a slow motion scythe across a virtual field of grain, those dark thoughts cut through Al's memories, scattering them.

Once more Sam swept the panoramic view then spared a glance downward toward the workers going quietly about their job. "All of this," he murmured. "People everywhere, seeing just about everything that goes on and Russ just... vanishes into thin air.  But why?"

Al's face gradually transitioned into a frown.  "I don't know, Sam.  I've been talking with Howie, but he either can't remember anything specific or flat out doesn't know what's bothering Russ.  He has noticed that Russ has been watching him like a hawk."  Al paused, "He called Russ a 'baby Christian.'  Apparently, Russ 'got saved,' to use Howie's lingo, a year ago at a Campus Crusade event.  Get this--Howie was the one who prayed with him and counseled him."

Sam tugged thoughtfully at his lower lip.  "Do you think Howie's maybe some kind of role model or something for Russ?"

"Would explain why Russ' been watching him so closely, wouldn't it?" Al realized.

Sam didn't say anything for a moment, allowing this new bit of information to twist and turn in his mind, trying to fit the pieces together. "Yes, it could," he said, keeping his voice soft. "You said that Howie called Russ a 'baby Christian'," he mused then in the next breath asked, "How does a baby learn?"

Al's brows knitted in vague wondering as he replied, "By watching and imitating what they see. But Sam, we're not taking about a literal baby here.  Russ is twenty-two years old..."

Sam sat up, his expression a study in focus. "Al, a baby is a baby, no matter if it's literal or, in this case, spiritual.  He's got a lot to learn, and who else is Russ... the baby Christian... going to look to, but someone he knows and trusts to show him the way?"  Sam quirked a questioning eyebrow at the Observer.

"But he's still got to do the learning and the growing on his own," Al argued, dropping his voice when Sam glanced back at the sliding door. "Howie can't do it for him."  He paused then added, "It's like learning to ride a bike. You can watch all the other kids riding by and wish and wish to ride one, too.  But until you get on a bike without the training wheels... you're never going to get there."

"But what makes you want to get on the bike?  Watching the other kids ride by and wishing," argued Sam, reasonably.  "How else is Russ going to learn what to do but by watching and then trying to do it himself afterwards?"

Al opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking back on his conversation with the Visitor in the Waiting Room.  "Sam... everyone's path is different.  Russ can't just mimic Howie.  It would be like... you trying to be Tony Hawk when you're just learning how to skateboard."

Once more Sam became quiet as he thought about Al's words.  However that lasted only a moment as he found himself agreeing with him. "Russ can get to where Howie is in his... spiritual life, but he's got to do it for himself." Glancing at his friend, Sam said, "Do you think it's possible that Russ thinks Howie's got all the answers?  And when he finds out he doesn't he just... decides to go off in another direction?"

"Maybe," said Al, thoughtfully.  "But, I have to tell you, Sam, just from talking to Howie tonight--he's very open about the fact that he *doesn't* have all the answers."

Sam got to his feet and leaned against the balcony, his buttocks pressed against the railing, bracing himself with his hands as he faced the Observer.  "Hmmm... but maybe Russ thinks he's just being humble?"

"It's possible," conceded Al. 

"I wonder," said Sam, "if it could be something else."

Both men fell silent as the sliding door opened with a quiet grating noise.  Skip poked his head outside and blinked in surprise.  "I thought I heard voices out here," he said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.  He crossed to stand beside Sam and said, "Were you praying for Russ again?"

A lightning fast look flashed between Observer and Leaper at Skip's question. "Well..." Sam began uncertainly, grateful for the cover of darkness.

Skip lifted a hand and placed it on Sam's right shoulder, gazing at his friend's troubled expression.  "You've really been carrying this burden for Russ for a while now," he said softly.  "I've been watching you these past couple of weeks." He paused then asked simply, "Would you like to pray for him?"

"H...here?" Sam tried not to stutter, as the too clear memory of the prayer circle came back to him.

Skip smiled and nodded. "Right here, right now," he said. He looked toward the glass door then back to Sam. "We're all here," he said. "You, me...."

"And Russ," Sam added.

"And God," Skip said. Carefully he got down on his knees then looked up at Sam, who glanced at the Observer.

It was a moment that Sam was sure he would never forget as he received Al's thoughts about the suggestion not in words, but by the way his friend followed Skip's example.

Al couldn't help the bit of a smile that touched his lips as he met and held his friend's gaze.  "Come on down," he nudged his friend softly.

Sam got down on his knees beside Skip. This time, when Skip took his hand in a firm hold and bowed his head, Sam just followed suit.  He was relieved when, after a moment, Skip began to pray aloud.

"Lord, we come to you on behalf of our buddy, Russ.  He's going through something right now.  God, we just ask that You give him the help he needs.  If there's any way we can help him, we just ask You to show it to us."  Skip paused.  "God, I know that You'll speak through the concerts tomorrow night.  I ask that You open Russ' ears to what You have to say to him.  Open our ears as well."  He tightened his hand briefly on Sam's, as he continued, "Lord, I want to thank you for my good friend here.  God, You've just given him such a heart for others, and I ask that You continue to give him the strength to impact lives.  Help him to fulfill his dreams and pass his classes."  Skip chuckled briefly.  "I just want to thank You for all that You've done for us, and for all that You're going to do.  You are awesome and wonderful, and it's in Your holy name that I pray.  Amen."

As he listened to Skip praying for Russ, Sam couldn't help but feel that the prayer was for him as well.  Only God knew how much he, Sam Beckett, needed help, especially right now.  He echoed Skip's, "Amen," softly, even as the thought *God, please don't let me screw up this one.*

He wasn't sure what is was, but as he lifted his head and then stood up again with Skip, Sam wondered at the thought that flitted through his mind at that moment... **Then let go and let me work through you.**

"Howie?" Skip said, noticing the thoughtful expression on his friend's face.  When Howie looked at him, Skip urged, "Come on back to bed, man. It'll be dawn soon, and we've all got a full day and night ahead of us."

Sam offered him an uncertain smile.  "Okay. You go on. I'll be there in a minute. Promise," he affirmed when Skip hesitated.

"Okay, but longer than a minute and I'll come get you," Skip said then returned inside. As if leaving a reminder, he left the sliding door partially open.

Sam looked at Al, who was just getting to his own feet, his jaw slack and eyes wide.  "What is it?" Sam asked, concerned.  "What's wrong?"

Al shook his head and closed his eyes, opening them again as he said, "I think I'm starting to understand why Russ is watching Howie so closely."

"What do you mean?"

"When I was talking to him, trying to get him to remember something about Russ so that I could help you, he said that I needed to let go.  He said that God would give you what you needed to know."  Al thumbed toward the room, "It's like he knew Skip was gonna come out here and do that."

Sam could have stayed on the balcony and discussed Al's comment further, but a softly called, "Dude, you coming in?" was the goad that sent Sam back into the still darkened room. Turning to glance out at Al still on the balcony, just before he closed the sliding door, Sam gazed into his friend's dark eyes a moment.  With Skip awake and so close, he couldn't risk saying anything to the Observer so he just nodded to him and shut the door.

Padding back to the cot, Sam crawled between the sheets again, wiggled into a comfortable position and closed his eyes and sighed.  He lay still, his mind still going round and round as the prayer and the whisper in his thoughts began to blend.  Slowly it was like those two things combined to gently ease Sam Beckett, body and mind, back down into the restful depths of sleep.  The quantum physicist's last words before sleep reclaimed him seemed to find a corner of his mind to linger in.

"Show me what to do," the words slipped from his lips.  The next sound that came from Sam Beckett was a soft snore.

To be Continued

===========

4—Psalm 42:1-2

5—John 4:14

6—James 1:23-24

7—Matthew 6:26

a—“River of Life,” Public Domain

b—“It Is Well (With My Soul),” words by Horatio G. Spafford, 1873, music by Philip P. Bliss, 1876.

If you’ve never been to Walt Disney World, short video clips of some of the attractions featured in this episode are available for viewing at http://www.go2orlando.com/attractions/go2-mm-ridesvideo-teaser,0,937431.teaser   

Simply select Walt Disney World from the index page, and on the page of clips you can access footage of The Great Movie Ride and Space Mountain.  Each clip is approximately thirty seconds to one-minute in length and may be identified by hovering your mouse over the thumbnail for a drop-down title before clicking. (note: The Space Mountain clip contains aerial footage which shows the proximity of the Contemporary Resort to Space Mountain.)