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 II:

Sam’s efforts to get close to Russ were hampered by touring, shopping, and a prayer circle he felt out of place in.  These unintentional interferences left an opening for Sam’s doubts and a taunting voice to torment him in the night.  Meanwhile, Al was discovering a depth about the young Visitor in the Waiting Room that both surprised and touched him.  As Al later spoke with Sam about his mission, concern and focus temporarily allowed fond memories to come forth of a Calavicci family vacation some 20 years ago.  Sam himself was further surprised by the concern shared by Howie and his friends for each other, though Russ continued to be something of an enigma.

PART ONE

En route to the Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

8:30 AM

The group boarded the monorail that stopped inside the Contemporary Resort, filling half of the car.  The girls sat on the blue vinyl bench while Sam and the other two boys leaned against the blue divider and gripped the handrails.  A warning played first in English, then repeated in Spanish, and they were off.  The monorail paused to pick up passengers at the Polynesian Resort and then again at the Grand Floridian Resort.  Each time, Sam was struck by the theming and attention to detail.  Where the Contemporary had been bold colors, clean lines, and futuristic design, the Polynesian was dark wood and lush, verdant tropical greenery.  The girls ooh'ed and ahh'ed over the Grand Floridian, its white Victorian architecture and red gabled rooftops creating a glorious vision.  Even Sam felt his breath taken away.  Finally, the monorail stopped at the Magic Kingdom and they emerged onto a platform of green wrought-iron railings, and then followed a ramp down to a bricked surface, each hexagonal brick bearing an engraving commemorating families, visits, friends, special occasions, and more.

They made their way across the bricked surface, Sam looking out across the Seven Seas Lagoon at the three resorts ringing its shores.  To his right, a boat launch proclaimed its travels to and from the Grand Floridian, the Wilderness Lodge, and Fort Wilderness.  One was just docking, bearing a load of passengers from one of those resorts.

They turned away from it and passed through the turnstiles, presenting their tickets for admission and being summarily counted for the daily attendance records.  Directly in front was an old-fashioned train station.  Its platform was elevated, and beneath it was landscaped art, flowers arranged to form the famous face of Mickey Mouse.  Crowds had already gathered in front of the ropes stretched to the far right and left of the expanse, so Sam and his troupe filled in towards the right. 

As they waited and chatted, music suddenly filled the air and dancers clothed in turn-of-the-century attire appeared on the platform, singing and twirling as they sang, "Good Mornin'!  Good Mornin'!"  Shortly afterwards, a plump elderly gentleman came out and introduced himself as the Mayor of Main Street, U.S.A.  He gave a brief speech welcoming them all to this happy place, and announced that very shortly a special event would take place, as one family had been chosen to open the Magic Kingdom.  His speech finished, the dancers once again took over, broad smiles spreading across their faces.  Sam thought the smiles looked incredibly genuine.

It wasn't long before the tooting of an approaching steam train sounded to the right, and the old-fashioned iron horse came down the tracks, pulling up to the station and coming to a stop.  As each car passed by, Sam was able to see characters were riding aboard it.  Mickey and Minnie Mouse.  Donald Duck, Daisy Duck.  Goofy.  The large costumed masks seemed to have expression as the skilled Cast Members pantomimed.  Sam was surprised to see several characters who were mask-less, their faces made up to match their character instead.  Peter Pan and Wendy stepped onto the platform and grinned and waved.  Peter Pan pointed to a small girl and blew a kiss to her as he shouted, “Hello!” and proceeded to crow like a rooster.

Not long afterward, the selected family--from North Dakota--was introduced by the mayor and made its way to the center of the platform.  On the count of three, they released streamers and confetti--pixie dust to start a magical day.

The Cast Members dropped the ropes, and the crowd surged forward.

Sam had opted to keep his reactions low-key, preferring to study his companions as much as he could without looking like he was oblivious to the festive air of excitement being generated by, as far as he could tell, every person crowded around the grandstand.  His roommate, Skip, was as excited as any of the younger kids around him. Sam couldn't help but grin at the sight of the college age young man wearing his Mickey ears and oblivious to everything but enjoying himself.

Ginger and Karen were about the same, though Ginger kept swiping the Goofy ball cap that Sam had been 'condemned' to wear for not going 'hands free' the day before, and slapping it on his head every chance she got.  She had just pulled it down on Sam's head for the third time, and Sam was reaching to pull it off again for the third time, when all of a sudden he was swept away with the throng of people around him now surging through the gates like a high tide retreating toward the ocean.

"Howie, dude," Skip laughed aloud when he saw his friend struggling to get the cap from over his eyes and trying to stay on his feet in the rush.  Grabbing his friend's arm, Skip used his solid size to steer Howie to the edge of the crowd until they could step off onto the grass to their left.  Grinning, he reached up and grabbed the bill of the hat and pulled the hat off.

Sam grabbed the hat and started to shove it in his back pocket again.

Skip grinned. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he suggested.

"Why not?" Sam demanded, glaring down at the inoffensive hat.

"Because Ginger's headed this way."

Sam scanned the still fast flowing crowd swarming into the park, spying the tall, thin redhead wearing a yellow Daisy Duck tee-shirt with matching shorts, and her gaze fixed on him.

Hastily Sam wadded the cap, as well as he could, and stuffed it in his right front pants pocket just as Ginger reached them.

"Where's your hat, Howie?" she teased.

Sam gave her a narrow look. "Where you can't get it," he answered.

"Oh?" she archly inquired, her eyebrows raising as she scanned the area.  Her eyes tracked from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, pausing at his pocket, where a traitorous black ear flopped out of the suspicious wad.

Juanita had come up to see what was keeping everyone and followed Ginger's gaze.  "Is that a rabbit in your pocket..." she began quoting from Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

"Fine!  Enough!" Sam scowled and seized the hat, straightening Goofy's now crooked nose as best he could before jamming it onto his own head.  "Happy?" he asked, somewhat surly.

What happened next was so bizarre Sam began to wonder if it had been scripted somehow.  From the firehouse to the left of the small grassy plot in the center of the beginning of Main Street, a troupe of characters processed out.  Making a beeline for Sam was none other than the dwarf, Happy.

Sam didn't have anything against Happy. As a kid, he'd loved reading the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. And the one time, on that summer long family vacation when he was twelve, the Beckett family had spent one day extra in California just to visit Disneyland. From what he could snag of that childhood memory from out of his now ever Swiss-cheesed memory, he and Katie had played and danced with the dwarfs when they had come upon them.  But that was a long time past....

"Ooof!" he huffed when Happy, in his exuberance, grabbed him and hugged him then danced him around a few steps before releasing him and moving on to Juanita and the others in turn.

"And this is just the first five minutes," Sam muttered under his breath. He took care to keep moving in sync with the people in front of him, unabashedly ducking and hiding behind them until at last the friendly dwarf had skipped off in search of others to welcome to his home.

Happy-less now, the group tried to pick back up into the flow of the crowd.  The runners were now long gone and the remaining crowd was exploring the quaint architecture of Main Street with leisure.  Russ groaned.

"Man, the line must be 20 minutes long by now."

"More than that," Juanita estimated.  "We were playing with Happy for a few minutes."

"Well," Karen reasoned, "Space Mountain's the only major draw in Tomorrowland, but the crowds in Frontierland should be split between the two mountains, don'tcha think?  Why don't we head there and see which line is shorter, Splash Mountain or Big Thunder Mountain?"

"Sounds good to me," Sam said.  Actually, it all sounded *Greek* to him.  But, since he was technically the tour guide--since he was to all intents and purposes the Disney-savvy Howie--he figured anything that made his job easier was fine by him.

The group purposefully strode down Main Street, neglecting the details that Imagineers had spent years designing in lieu of the pursuit of their ultimate goal of early-morning thrills.  They made it to the hub in short order and paused.  Even their rush couldn’t stop them from taking in the beauty of Cinderella Castle, even decorated as a giant cake, its elegant spires reached toward the heavens.  In the foreground, centered in the hub, a bronze statue of Walt Disney and Mickey Mouse greeted visitors.  As they admired the scenery, Sam searched his photographic memory for the vision of the maps he'd studied the previous night and pointed to the left.

"Fewer people are cutting through Adventureland.  It wraps right around into Frontierland.  We'll come out right beside Splash Mountain and have a straight on view of Big Thunder."  He was agog at himself at how smoothly the names rolled off his tongue and how confident he sounded.  He just hoped he wouldn't be called upon to judge which ride would have the shorter wait.

The leaper was more than willing to let the three girls decide where the group was going, and followed without argument along behind them.  He just waved to them when Karen called back, "Hurry up or you'll be at the end of the line by the time you get there."

"You go on ahead and save me a spot in line," he called back. Again it seemed that somebody was on his side as Karen just rolled her eyes at him then hurried to catch up with Juanita and Ginger.  He paused for a moment and just stared after them, wondering.

"Why me?" he said softly under his breath. "And why here?" That thought, however, faded when a deep voice spoke beside him.

"Because this is where the Nights of Joy are. Or did your little two-step with Happy wipe your memory banks clean of that?" Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. filled in as he caught up with Sam.

"Huh? Oh… oh, yeah," Sam covered hastily, offering a sheepish grin at the only one of the group that he hadn't yet had a chance to talk with since the leap in. He reached a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck then started walking again.  "Happy was...enthused."

Russ grinned as he fell into step with Sam. "He was... but you seemed a trifle lacking in that attitude."  He glanced at his companion, noting that Howie seemed a little quieter than was usual for the clown of the group.  "You okay, Howie?" he asked. In a lightly teasing voice, he 'threatened', "Maybe I should go find Happy to cheer you up..." He started to turn back the way they had come.

Sam knew Russ was just joking, but he quickly grasped the other's arm and firmly said, "No.  That's quite all right."  He broke into a grin then and added, "Anything but that."

Russ smiled back and gestured at Splash Mountain, which the girls had selected as the "lesser" wait.  "They think that's the shorter line?" he chuckled.  "That queue weaves around outside before weaving around *inside*."

"Oh boy," Sam said.

Skip jogged back to the opening of the line and shouted, "Come on, you two slowpokes!  If this line moves too much further we won't be able to let you back in!"

Russ and Sam looked at each other then turned back to Skip.

"You know what?  I'm really not in the mood to start my day getting drenched," Russ said.  He gestured at a carved sign of a dripping wet Brer Rabbit which proclaimed in blue-and-white water-inspired lettering, "You may get wet."  He waved dismissingly at Skip.  "I'm gonna pass on this one!" he called out.

Sam saw a golden opportunity--a chance to talk to Russ, see if he could figure out what Al had been alluding to last night.  Maybe get a hint of what had compelled Skip to join him on the balcony and pray for the young man.  He also had the chance to get out of a ride whose final drop was more than intimidating.

"I'm gonna keep Russ company!" Sam hollered.

"You guys sure are brave!" Skip shouted back.  "Don't be surprised if those gals cook up a punishment worse than a Goofy hat!"  He disappeared back into the queue.

Russ glanced at Sam. "They’re gonna out-do me?  What punishment could possibly be worse than a Goofy hat?"

As if of their own accord, Sam's eyes rolled up to look at the underside of the bill of that very same 'punishment' hat on his head then met Russ' amused gaze. He shivered slightly. "I'd rather not think about such things this early in the morning," he said.  "Besides," he added, glancing around. "If they can't find us, they can't punish us."

"I like how you think, man," Russ laughed.  "What's say we find some coffee and a shady place to drink it...out of sight, of course."

"Lead the way," Sam said.

Without drawing attention to the fact, Sam allowed Russ to decide which direction to go in search of coffee, and within a few minutes found himself in Liberty Square. They opted against going into one of the small cafes, instead going into the Columbia Harbor House. Though already bustling with other tourists in search of coffee or other refreshments, it only took them about five minutes to get their coffee and escape outside again.

Coffee wasn't Sam's preferred drink but in a pinch, anything would do. Pausing to take a sip of the steaming brew, he was more than a little surprised at how good the coffee was. 

Looking to Russ, Sam noticed how Russ, coffee cup still held near his lips, was staring at the bustling crowd of people around him. But for all of the laughter and enthusiasm that seemed to permeate the very air around them, Sam couldn't miss the lost, almost hungry expression in his companion's eyes.

"Russ?" he called the man's name quietly so as not to startle him. He waited a moment and when Russ didn't respond, Sam said, "Penny for your thoughts?"  There was no rhyme or reason why that should have caught the other man's attention, but it had and Sam had learned after years of leaping to not let even the smallest opportunity to slip away without at least trying to grab it.  "You okay?”

Russ abruptly turned to face him, "Fine."  He smiled to take the edge off the sharp response.  "Why do you ask?"

"You seemed like you were a million miles away," answered Sam.

Russ took a sip of coffee to delay answering.  "I was thinking about the concerts tonight.  What are they going to be like?"

Howie's response as relayed to him by Al the previous evening came to his mind, and Sam dutifully repeated it, having no more idea than Russ what to expect.  "It's joy that just soaks into a person's soul and fills a lot of empty spaces with something only God can give."

"Hmmm," Russ said noncommittally.

Sam took a sip of his own coffee, not really tasting it as he watched the young man over the rim of his cup.  "You don't sound too excited about all that joy and good music," he said softly.

Sam's words caught Russ unaware and he swung his head around to give him a briefly considering look.  It would have been easy to snap at his friend and the one he considered his spiritual older brother, but Russ couldn't let Howie see what a failure he was in his young walk of faith. Instead he let a slow smile cross his face.  "What are you?  Some secret agent PR man for Steven Curtis Chapman or something?"  Seeing Howie grin sheepishly, he was grateful that the small moment of panic at being caught in weakness had been averted.

Sam didn't know how to respond to Russ at first, opting to give a sheepish grin.  He'd hoped that Russ would open up given the chance, but perhaps that had been too much to hope for after all.  Having been given an out by Russ' joke, Sam decided that perhaps his best option as Howie was to play along, so he reached into his back pocket for the wallet, pulling it out and flipping it open and shut rapidly as if displaying a badge, spouting off, "Yes, indeed!  And you're not buying it, so I'll have to report to my superiors."

Russ laughed heartily and gestured toward the back end of Liberty Square.  "What say we ride the Haunted Mansion?  Those goofballs will be forever on Splash Mountain."

"What about the coffee?" asked Sam.

"Eh, by the time we get over there, we should be finished," Russ said, lifting the small red cup emblazoned with a series of small Mickey head icons.

Sam had to concede he was right, but he was frustrated by the lack of opportunity to talk with Russ.  He could tell from their location that the line was short at the Haunted Mansion, they'd probably be able to walk directly inside the English Tudor-styled building.  Still, he agreed, and they slowly walked and sipped their way towards it.

They'd just drawn near to the entranceway to the queue when Al popped in next to Sam, making him jump.  Had it not been for the safety lid on the cup, he'd have spilled coffee on his hand.

"Al!" he exclaimed, despite himself.

"Al?" Russ asked, glancing over at his friend.  Seeing the scowl on Howie's face and the way his lips were pressed together as he glared at a patch of empty air, he grinned.  "Okay," he said as he turned to face Sam, "I'm not that good at charades this early in the morning, but I'll give it a crack?"  Sidestepping a bit to allow a couple of girls to enter the wrought-iron gates leading to the Haunted Mansion ahead of them, he said, "Okay, I'm ready."

Sam hated moments like these; wanting to rant at Al for startling him yet again, but unable to do so without appearing to have lost his senses. Even though it was clear that the Observer's thoughts were not on anything comical, the Leaper still wanted to yell... but swallowed it, as he had so many times before.

Brushing a hand over his eyes, Sam laughed slightly then said, "Just practicing a scene I saw in a movie. You know..." his gaze flicked to the Observer then back to Russ.  "Trying to emote frustration without saying anything... or much of anything. So... how did I do?"

"Uh....really good, Howie," Russ said skeptically.  He finished his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can, decorated to blend into the colonial architecture of Liberty Square.  "So, foolish mortal, are you ready for the Haunted Mansion?"

"Sam...we need to talk," said Al, his dark eyes serious.

Sam downed his own coffee, tossed his cup into the can and said, "Uh, just a second, Russ.  That coffee went right through me.  I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

"Okay," said Russ.  He pointed to a bench outside a shop selling Christmas ornaments.  "I'll just wait right there."

Sam nodded and headed for the men's room.  Al groaned as he watched the Leaper walk off.  "Sam, if you think we're gonna find privacy in the men's room HERE, we need to get your head examined."

He waited until Sam entered the room, and then pressed a button on the handlink to pop in after him.  Sam had been checking the surprisingly nearly empty men's room for occupants, but Al's sudden arrival got a loud reaction from a little boy who had been washing his hands.  The child screamed and ran outside, soap dripping from his small fingers.

"What was that about?" Sam started to ask.  "Kids don't usually react THAT intensely to seeing you."

"I'll go check on him," said Al.  He pressed a button on the handlink and popped outside again.

The child had buried his face in his mother's legs, screaming and crying, as she assured him there weren't any ghosts in the bathroom.  She pivoted him in her arms to face the entrance to the restroom.  As soon as the boy caught sight of Al, he screamed again.

"I told you, Momma!  I told you!!!  It's the Hitchhiking Ghost!!  They said it would follow us home and there it is!!" the child started sobbing hysterically.

Al started to try and calm the child down, but he wasn't able to get a word out as the mother suddenly hefted the boy into her arms, saying, "That's it...we're going back to the room.  And no more Mickey bars for breakfast for YOU, young man.  It's much too early for this nonsense."

Al felt bad about having startled the little boy, and even started to step forward, a gentle smile on his face.  But all that resulted in was another sobbing squeal from the child, who then buried his face in the side of his mother's neck.  Al watched a moment longer then relocated himself inside the bathroom again. He found Sam leaning patiently against one of the sinks, his arms folded over his chest.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

Al shook his head lightly, saying, "The kid must've been on the Haunted Mansion ride.  He thought I was a Hitchhiking Ghost."

"A what?" 

Al flicked a hand noncommittally. "Never mind about the kid. He's okay, his Mom's got him.  I came to tell you that Ziggy has come up with some information..."

Sam almost jumped at the hologram, a sense of relief starting inside him. At last, something to give him direction.  "What's wrong with Russ?" he demanded. "What did she find out?"

Al took a deep breath then said, "We still don't know what's eating at Russ, but it turns out he did find a solution for it."

"Al...what?" the leaper demanded.  The feeling of intense gratitude for even a little 'something' to go on crumbled when he looked into his friend's dark eyes as Al said, "What Ziggy found was an entry in the...death records in the State of Florida...."

Sam felt like someone had started to suck the air from the room. "Death...."

The Observer nodded then figured that the momentary lull of quiet in one of the always busy restrooms was due to be interrupted any time, and pressed on.  "Yeah," he said, pressing another button to re-scroll the information so he had it right. "There's an entry for one Russell James Lovet-Hurston, Jr.," he lifted his eyes to his friend again. "Age 22. Date of death... September 12, 1997… in Orlando, Florida at Walt Disney World."  He glanced down at the handlink, his gaze fixing on the cause of death and not wanting to tell Sam, but that wasn't an option.

Sam could see it in the Observer's face and verbally nudged him. "Finish it, Al," he said quietly.  Sadness, along with a vague, nasty whisper of **failure!** flitted through his mind as he heard Al say somberly, "Cause of death was listed as...suicide."

PART TWO

Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

9:30 AM

Sam felt like he might as well have been on the Tower of Terror again, so sharply had the world dropped from beneath him at Al's words.  He'd given the Observer a look, his eyes speaking volumes, and Al, in return, had given him a soft expression, assuring him that Dom would persist in cracking the Disney security firewalls so that they could determine exactly what had happened.

Once Al disappeared, Sam took a couple brief moments to compose himself, before rejoining Russ at the bench.

"Boy, you were serious," said Russ.  "You gonna be okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine now," Sam said.  He nodded toward the Haunted Mansion queue.  "You still up for it?"

"999 Happy Haunts....but there's always room for one more," quipped Russ, unintentionally sending a chill down Sam's spine.

Getting to his feet, Russ, now looking for all the world like any of the other hundreds of laughing, happy park visitors, led the way back to the Haunted Mansion.  Luck seemed to have been on his and Sam's side, as they were able to walk right inside to a wood-paneled room.  Sam, keeping his gaze fixed more or less on Russ, almost jumped out of his skin when a deep sonorous voice almost at his elbow intoned, "Drag your wretched bodies to the DEAD center of the room, please."

Seeing the way Howie jumped when the Cast Member had unexpectedly sneaked up on his friend was funny, but what made Russ guffaw was the way Howie yelped, his eyes as big as silver dollars as he whirled to face the Cast Member.  The somber-faced young man, clad as a butler in dark green funereal attire, didn’t blink or grin, though merriment was visible in his eyes.  Russ continued to chuckle like a fiend as they followed a family ahead of them into the center of the room.  As the voice of the unseen Ghost Host intoned, "Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion," Russ leaned close to Sam and whispered, "For sure, if you don't ever get into the movies, you'll make it big with voiceovers.  You scream as good as any girl I've ever heard."

"Oh shut up," Sam muttered.

He surveyed the room, the wood paneling giving way to yellow and blue striped wallpaper, on which were displayed paintings of what the Ghost Host proceeded to describe as “some of our guests, as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.”  The paintings, illuminated by the flickering candlesticks clutched by leering gargoyles positioned around the octagonal room, gradually began to rise and lengthen in their frames, displaying the manner in which the subjects ostensibly met their doom—an unraveling tightrope on which an erstwhile aerialist balanced over a crocodile pit; a man standing on a barrel of dynamite; a teetering pyramid of men sinking in a pit of quicksand; and an old woman perched on a tombstone.

As the Ghost Host continued to speak, Sam returned his attention to Russ.  The young man showed no signs of apprehension at all, apparently still experiencing the glee of Sam’s shrieks.  Other guests, though, appeared to reflect the Ghost Host’s commentary, “Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Is this Haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination, hmm?? And consider this dismaying observation—this chamber has no windows, and no doors!  Which offers you this chilling challenge…to find A WAY OUT!”  Reflexively, Sam glanced around the room as the Ghost Host cackled, realizing the truth of the statement.  Before he could even begin to set his mind to the challenge, the narration continued, “Of course, there’s always MY WAY!” 

The lights went out to the accompaniment of a lightning flash which illuminated the ceiling above them, rendering it translucent.  As one, the guests looked upwards to see a rotting corpse hanging from a noose in the attic.  As soon as the lights came back on and a panel slid open to allow them to exit the room and enter the loading area, Sam stared at Russ, Al’s revelation that the young man would commit suicide some time before the day was over ringing in his ears. 

They made their way through the winding queue, not speaking. While Russ absorbed the meticulous attention to detail that had been afforded even this unassuming portion of the attraction, Sam didn’t take his eyes off the young man.  He, therefore, almost stumbled onto the moving platform after Russ indicated they were a party of two to the attending Cast Member, and practically fell into the approaching Doom Buggy.  He automatically extended a hand toward the safety bar, halting as the voice of the Ghost Host simultaneously instructed, “Do not pull down on the safety bar please, I will lower it for you. Heed this warning, the spirits will materialize ONLY if you remain quietly seated at all times. Oh yes, and no flash pictures please, we spirits are frightfully sensitive to bright lights.”  A moment later, the front of the conveyance that had been open to allow them entrance now tilted forward to contain them.

"This just keeps getting better and better," he said, trying to keep his tone light as he wiggled into a more comfortable position.

"Howie," Russ grinned at his companion as the Doom Buggy continued its forward progress. "If your luck gets any better, they'll have to change the '999' to '1,000 plus' by the end of the ride." Russ wouldn't have laughed long if he could have heard what was running through Sam Beckett's mind even as he mentally crossed his fingers against the laughing suggestion: *Don't give anybody any ideas...and don't you listen to yourself either.*

Sam barely noticed the ingenious effects rendered by the Imagineers as their Doom Buggy made its way through the library and hallway, but even his pre-occupied mind couldn't stay distracted when they went into the séance room where the disembodied head of Madame Leota called out to the spirits from the sanctity of a crystal ball.  The next room, in which the Doom Buggies simultaneously swiveled to face out over a vast dining room and ballroom captivated Sam, as he watched ghosts appearing and reappearing.  Some celebrated as a ghost appeared to blow out the candles on a cake, disappearing just as quickly.  Further down, ghosts whirled and twirled both on and above the ballroom floor, while slightly above eye level, two ghosts emerged from their portraits to re-enact a duel.  As they passed from this scene into an attic where an eerie bride stood watch, the Doom Buggies swiveled again and tilted backwards to descend to the next level.

Unable to see much beyond the black back of the Doom Buggy now in front of theirs, though able to determine the intent was to simulate outdoor travel, Sam gasped when something bright suddenly appeared in his line of vision.  Rectangular in shape, Sam gradually realized that it was an official document.  He squinted, and three lines of type suddenly became more pronounced.  The first was the proclamation that the document was a death certificate.  The second was Russ' name.  But the third, and most chilling, was the cause of death....Sam Beckett.

"No," Sam whispered.

"What?" Russ said, turning to him, but they'd reached the bottom and had now entered the graveyard scene of the Haunted Mansion, and his attention was drawn to the animatronic of the caretaker, his skeletally thin dog cowering and whimpering at his side.  They rounded the corner into the graveyard, where a "swinging wake" was taking place, to the accompaniment of the catchy tune "Grim Grinning Ghosts."

While the graveyard scene contained many humorous elements, Sam was unable to enjoy any of them, after the ominous vision he'd been privy to on the descent.  Still, the song was catchy, and gradually Sam released the tension enough to listen as the Ghost Host suddenly returned to the speakers in their Doom Buggy.

As they rounded the corner to leave the cemetery and enter a carriageway, they were faced with the image of three different ghosts, their thumbs cocked and waving as they clutched bags in the other hand.  The accompanying narration declared, “Aaahh, there you are! And just in time, there’s a little matter I forgot to mention, BEWARE OF HITCHHIKING GHOSTS!!”

Despite his concern for preventing Russ' suicide and the fear of failure, Sam couldn't help but snort, now understanding Al's earlier encounter with the small boy.  He grinned along with Russ as the Doom Buggy now swiveled to face a wall of mirrors, and in between them, the reflection displayed a gaunt bearded man.  Different ghosts were visible in the Doom Buggies traveling alongside theirs.

Sam's amusement quickly vanished as they passed under the last Imagineering triumph, a female ghost who said in a haunting voice, "Hurry baaaack, hurry baaaack....be sure and bring your DEATH certificate."

Sam was so stunned by the correlation between her words and his vision that he almost didn't get out of the still-moving Doom Buggy in time, and nearly tripped on the moving floor that awaited them.

"You nearly went back through the ride again," Russ said, as he reached a hand to steady Sam.

Righting himself with the aid of Russ' hand in getting off the moving floor, Sam spared a glance back at the disappearing Doom Buggy, saying, "No thanks. One trip..."

"Or in your case... two trips," Russ couldn't help adding, remembering his friend's ungraceful entry into the Doom Buggy they had occupied.

Sam ignored Russ' comment as he finished his thought. "One trip through that 'Spooks' Hall of Fame', is more than enough for me."

Once outside again in the bright sunshine, Sam breathed a sigh of relief, but in spite of the sunshine and, even more, Russ' apparently upbeat attitude, he couldn't shake or dismiss or ignore the image of the death certificate he'd glimpsed on the back of that Doom Buggy.  "No," he whispered under his breath, not realizing that the vehemence of his determination to make that ghostly apparition or whatever it had been, a total lie, had come through clearly in that one word.

"Okay, okay," Russ said, misunderstanding Sam's comment, "we won't do it again!  Keep your shirt on."  He glanced at his watch, "Besides, we probably need to head back to Frontierland to meet up with the rest of the gang.  Hey, if we time it right, we may be able to see them go down the drop, if they haven't already.  Let's go to the bridge and watch."

"All right," Sam conceded, trying to inject good spirits into his voice. 

"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Howie?  That coffee's not acting up on you again, is it?"

"No, I'm fine," Sam said, regretting his excuse and starting to agree with Al about the downside of chatting in restrooms.

The walk to Frontierland seemed more like a salmon trying to go upstream to Sam, but in spite of the little whisper that kept trying to distract him, he kept sweeping it aside until it gave up and left him alone.

At the bridge, he and Russ found a space between a couple of families, joining them as they watched the flume from which was pouring what looked like a small waterfall, waiting for the next log to appear, which they did, in intervals of approximately twenty to thirty seconds. It wasn't more than two minutes before a little girl nearby squealed, "There's Kasey and Mom!"

Russ' eyes scanned the occupants of the log then he threw his head back and laughed. "Juanita and Karen are in the front! Where's Skip..."

"Third row," Sam filled in as he quickly picked out the football player with a Mickey Mouse heart and yen for fun in the split second before the log picked up speed and plunged down the hill.

Sam's and Russ' laughter blended with that of the other spectators, both watching avidly as the girls were thoroughly soaked as the log hit the water. As the log slowly moved along to return inside, Russ observed, "I can't imagine how Skip talked Juanita into the front seat. She hates heights."

Yet again it seemed that he had been presented with another opportunity to, he hoped get Russ to talk.  "What about you?" Sam asked as he joined Russ as they strolled down off the bridge. "You afraid of heights?"

The question prickled Russ and he almost hesitated then kept moving forward. "Nope," he said quietly, sparing a glance back at the flume of Splash Mountain.  "Heights don't scare me at all," he said, his tone now decidedly introspective.

Though Sam was tempted to respond, "They do me," he rethought it, since he didn't know whether or not Howie shared his fear.  Instead, he tried to move forward with Russ again.

"What does scare you?" he asked, easily, hoping his nonchalant tone would slip past Russ' guard.

Veering out of the way of a couple of soggy kids running toward the bridge he and Howie had just left, Russ kept his thoughts, those private thoughts, under a tight rein.  He knew Howie could be persistent, even in a good way but right now Russ didn't feel strong enough to deal with that persistence.

"Ohhh let's see," he said nonchalantly, careful not to look at his friend as they moved along. "Not making first team cut in two weeks. Ummm.... Dad cutting off my allowance..." For that he did send a waggish grin at his friend for a second before looking ahead again before turning the question back on Howie. "What scares you, Howie?"

"Well, to be honest, heights," Sam said, not sure why he'd admitted it. He walked a few more yards in silence before he added, "Not succeeding when I don't reach a goal I want."  He had moved several more feet along the way when he realized that Russ wasn't at his side anymore.  Stopping, Sam turned around to find Russ staring at him, his eyes... the look in them reminded him of a hurt animal warily watching as a person was trying to approach him to help.  For the leaper, however, he saw in Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr.'s eyes a vulnerability that, up to that moment, had never been revealed in those grey-blue eyes.

For a moment Sam gazed at Russ, uncertain if he should go to the other man or not. That thought was brushed aside; he couldn't not go to Russ' aid but he did so slowly.  As he moved, almost casually, closing the brief distance in three or four slow strides, he cast about in his mind for what to say.

"Some goals aren't meant to be reached...all by ourselves," he said. "Sometimes we need to let others help us."  When Sam was as close as he felt he should approach Russ, still close enough to reach out and touch him if that were to be needed, he added, "I had to learn that lesson over and over and over."

Russ' eyes were fixed on Howie's intent yet unthreatening gaze. He wanted to blink, to turn away and say something, anything that would break the spell and allow his pride to slam the door shut before his weakness got out. But he couldn't look away, couldn't stop listening.

Inside, Sam was almost afraid to say or do anything else for fear that Russ would just turn and take off into the crowd. But long years of leaping as well as commonsense told him that doing nothing was not an option, so he continued to ease closer one careful step at a time.

In spite of wanting to give into the pride telling him to brush off his friend's concern with the same casual attitude as he had done in the recent past, Russ couldn't make his feet move or his eyes stray from those compelling green eyes fixed on him.

Licking his lips lightly, Sam swallowed then, a soft but clear tone of concern coloring his words, said, "Whatever it is, Russ... let me help you."

Sam's words were like drops of cold water flicked on a sunburn, causing Russ to jerk, startled by the offer and even more by the sympathy underlying the words.  Taking a step back, then another, Russ managed to pull himself together, shoving down the emptiness and replacing it with the mask of relaxed confidence that had become the face he showed to the world.  Digging down, he summoned up a real smile and put it on for his too inquisitive friend and the world to see.

"Help me what?" he said lightly.  "There's nothing that I need help with."

Sam was about to press further when the intrepid (and drenched) Splash Mountain riders drew near.  Juanita was shoving Skip and shouting at him, "¡Usted muchacho loco! ¡Ésa era la cosa más asustadiza que he estado siempre encendido! ¿Por qué  yo le dejaron los individuos hablarme en estas cosas? ¡Soy quizá el loco!" 

Russ looked at Sam and grinned, "I don't think Juanita enjoyed the ride too much."

It took Sam a few seconds for his ability to speak Spanish and knowledge of that ability to click and he understood what Juanita had been shouting at the still clearly unrepentant Skip.  (“You crazy boy!  That was the scariest thing I've ever been on!  Why do I let you guys talk me into these things?  Maybe I'm the crazy one!”)  The young man was now ducking and dodging the dark-haired Juanita's attempts to do, as she shouted now in English, "Once I get my hands on you, Skip I'll wring the water from your clothes. And then I'm going to wring your neck!"  Sam couldn't help chuckling at the sight then, once peace had been restored, along with a stern warning in Spanish from Juanita, he turned back around just in time to see Russ arm in arm with a damp Karen and heading off toward another ride.

"Damn," Sam swore under his breath.

***Isn't that strike two, Sam?*** mocked the mean little whisper.

PART THREE

Fantasyland

Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

4:00 PM

Al popped into the middle of the crowd in Fantasyland and began searching for Sam.  “Where is he, Ziggy?” he asked.

“Dr. Beckett is approximately 120 yards behind you and drawing closer,” answered the computer.

Al turned and saw the entrance to It’s A Small World.  He shook his head and groused, “Why didn’t you just say he was on the ride?”  Al tapped his foot as he waited and just watched the crowd milling about, moving from attraction to attraction.  After a few moments he started humming the tune to “It’s A Small World,” and before long he was singing.

“It’s a world of laughter, it’s a world of tears,

It’s a world of hopes and a world of fears,

There’s so much that we share that it’s time we’re aware,

It’s a small world after all.”

A small child grinned up at him as she walked past, clutching a stuffed Mickey in one hand, and Al grinned back, singing the chorus loudly, “It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all…”

“Stop!!  Please, no more!” Sam complained from behind him.

Turning, Al gave Sam a huge wicked smirk and ended with a flourishing rendition of the final line: “It’s a small, small world.”^c

“Ugh, if I never hear that song again…”

“But it’s such a cute song,” Al said, his grin so cheesy he could have caught mice with it.  “Once you hear it, it's like gum on your shoe.... except, now that I think of it, maybe it's more like gum on your brain."

Sam was getting ready to ask if Al had anything helpful to tell him, but the group was calling him back as they headed for Peter Pan’s Flight directly opposite to It’s A Small World.

Sam looked back at Al, helplessly, as he followed the group.

"It's okay, Sam... I'm with you," Al said, pressing a button on the handlink and popping from the crowd to reposition himself beside Sam in the queue to Peter Pan's Flight.  Since the three o'clock parade was due to start, the crowds had thinned considerably, so the line moved swiftly.

"Do you have anything new for me?" Sam muttered, barely moving his lips so that no one in the close quarters of the winding line would be able to catch him talking to "himself."

"Not much," Al said, but he caught himself as Russ nudged Sam from behind.

"I want to talk to Ginger, you mind letting me by?" he asked.

"Okay," Sam said, letting Russ pass him.  He turned to look at Al. "Do you think something happens with him and Ginger that leads him to...?"

"I dunno, Sam," Al said.  "Howie hasn't mentioned anything about Ginger and Russ. About any of the girls, actually."

"Maybe he didn't know," Sam reasoned.

"Maybe," Al was dubious.  He moved closer to Russ and Ginger to eavesdrop.  After a moment, he returned to Sam and shook his head.  "Nah, Sam... Russ is convincing Ginger about how you all should each 'pilot' your own ship.  He doesn't have romance on his mind."

Sam nodded subtly then focused his attention on the queue.  "Another moving sidewalk," he muttered.  He just hoped he wouldn't lose his footing on this continuous load ride like he had on the Haunted Mansion.

Russ was the first to approach the attending Cast Member, indicating a single rider.  He was directed to a pirate ship with a bright green sail.  Russ stepped onto the black conveyor that moved at approximately the same speed as the ship, then settled in comfortably onto the center of the vinyl bench.  His ship continued to move forward, and a small black bar lowered over his lap.  The rest of the group moved forward one by one, each in turn taking "command" of a pirate ship, until finally, it was Sam's turn.  He tried his best not to lurch into the yellow-sailed vessel, and shifted slightly to the right after he sat, to allow Al to "sit" beside him.

Al chuckled as the black bar lowered over Sam's legs, thus appearing to have lowered over his own, rather than going through them.

"Last time I was on this ride," he chuckled, "I had Christa on one side of me and Vickie on the other.  Lizzie and Jackie were with Beth in the ship ahead of us."

Sam smiled briefly as the ship began its flight through the Darling family nursery, the track above his head, as the ship tilted left and right as it made its winding way through scenes from the Peter Pan movie.

After another moment and he had the hang of the rhythm of the ship, Sam forgot about anyone being close enough to be concerned about him talking to himself.  For all anyone watching him knew, he was 'playing pirate' or even being Peter Pan talking to Tinkerbell.

"I had an interesting conversation with Russ this morning near the bridge," he began.

"Which bridge?" Al asked promptly.

Sam did a slight double take. "What do you mean 'which bridge'?"

Al rolled his eyes patiently. "Sam, in this place there are more bridges than there are in Venice, Italy! Sooo... which bridge?"

Sam huffed a long-suffering sigh. "The one over by Splash Mountain," he specified. The ship shifted a bit just then and he was distracted but quickly resumed his focus on the Observer.  "It wasn't much of a conversation, more like me talking and seeing if he reacted to anything.  But something that struck me odd, was the way he answered when I asked him if there was something he was afraid of." Meeting Al's gaze, he told him, "He never did come out and say that he was or wasn't afraid."

Al gave Sam a puzzled look at the odd answer. "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Sam said.  "But he got this look about him." The leaper cast about in his mind for an apt description. "He looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He just stood there, staring at me."  As the ship began its approach toward the disembarking area, he added, "He's afraid of something, Al. For a minute, the way he was looking at me, it was like he was..."

"Was what?" Al insisted, his tone a trifle impatient.  This was the closest they had come to delving beneath the 'not a hair out of place' appearance that Russ Lovet-Hurston had worn since the start of the leap. "Like what, Sam? What did he look like?"

"Like he was afraid of me...er, Howie," Sam finished.  "Like he didn't want me getting too close."

"That would go along with what Howie said about him," Al said thoughtfully.  "Well, Sam, if you're going to save him, you're going to HAVE to get through that wall though."

"How?" Sam said, as the ship settled onto the receiving groove at floor level and the black bar lifted.  A Cast Member beckoned for him to exit the pirate ship onto another moving platform.

"How did you get through to me?" Al patiently asked.  "I had a pretty big wall up when you met me."

"That was different," Sam said quietly, now on concrete again, and making his way into the Fantasyland crowd once again.  "Your wall wasn't the same as Russ'."

"No," Al agreed.  "Mine wasn't.  But you still broke through it."

Sam hesitated, trying to find the group, and yet not wanting to.  It was easier to talk to Al when he was apart from them.  Still, he could always play it off as one of Howie's "goofs" if he had to.

As the girls chattered and laughed, beginning to move loosely as a group away from Peter Pan's Flight, Sam glanced around, hoping to find somewhere he and Al could continue their conversation in public without drawing too much attention.  "But where?" he murmured under his breath, vaguely noticing how Skip was now getting the brunt of the girls' teasing about his pirate accent that wasn't quite 'piratey'.

Al wondered a moment before he realized what it was Sam was looking for, and he, too, scanned the ever busy, bustling area of Fantasyland.  It was the sight of the carousel that popped up another memory of that Christmas vacation so long ago.  Turning to Sam, he said, his eyes twinkling, "You like elephants?"

"Huh?" Sam asked, then hastily added, "Yeah, sure I like elephants. But what's that got to do...."

"Just tell them you want to go on the Dumbo ride," Al told him. 

"How fast a ride is it?" Sam asked warily.

"It's a nice gentle ride," Al assured him. "Even Christa got a kick out of it. In fact, I think a little of my love of flying rubbed off on her..."

"Flying?!" Sam hissed softly, his eyes widening as he stopped moving and stared at the hologram. "Dumbo is a...flying...ride?"

Al couldn't not laugh at the look on his best friend's face.  When he stopped chuckling, he explained.  "It's a little kid's ride, Sam.  The cars are in the form of Dumbo and it moves around in a circle.  The rider controls how high or low Dumbo flies by pressing a button. And like I said, it's slow and easy it does it."  He couldn't resist teasing, "If my then four year old daughter with a heart condition could not just manage it, but have a blast on it, then I'm absolutely certain that you will come through it unscathed. Besides," he added as a final convincing point, "you can have a car to yourself and we can talk and nobody's the wiser if they see you talking to me."  His shaggy eyebrows arched mischievously above his dancing dark eyes. "So... shall we fly?"

Sam shot Al a dirty look then jogged forward to catch up with the group.  "Hey...how's about a ride on Dumbo?"

Skip looked askance at him.  "Dumbo?  Dude...did you stand up on Peter Pan and hit your head?  That's a kiddie ride."

"Oh, and Peter Pan's the height of thrills?" Karen shot back.  "I'd love to ride Dumbo!"

"You and every four-year-old out here," Skip argued, gesturing at the line and the eager small fry who were watching a ring of Dumbos fly in its small circuit, their mouths all forming small "o"s of anticipation.

"Fine, Skip," said Juanita archly.  "You can go ride the Teacups or whatever it is you think is 'manly' enough in Fantasyland.  But don't go too far."

"Man, y'all are ridiculous," Skip argued.  "I'll go do the Teacups.  You with me, Russ?"

Russ looked from the flying pachyderms to the spinning oversized cups and saucers.  "Sure, I'll join you in a cup of tea, Skip."

"Remember to let it wind down before the ride stops," called Karen as the two wandered towards the ride which marked the edge of Fantasyland.

"Ah, let 'em pay the price," laughed Ginger.  She gestured at the end of the line for Dumbo.  "It's not that bad of a line.  Two flights and we should be on it."

They all filed in, and Sam watched as the elephants lifted and lowered, all the while circling a central point, while Timothy S. Mouse stood charge on a disco ball at the center.  It did look tame enough, but even so, the elephants rose above the rooftops.  He rubbed his nose as if he had to sneeze and looked at Al as he muttered, "Christa liked this ride, right?"

"She loved it," Al said again.  "There weren't many 'thrills' that were okay for her to go on, Sam.  Besides...have you LOOKED at the line?  Skip's right, pal.  Dumbo's number one with the four-and-under set."

Getting in line, Sam tried not to be too obvious as he cast several looks toward the Mad Tea Party ride, catching glimpses of Russ and Skip as the line they were in moved fairly quickly to loading.  He would have still been standing in the same spot a while longer, except that a sudden light little slap on the back of one of his legs made him start then turn quickly around and look down into the determined blue eyes of a little boy.

"Move...please," the child said firmly. "I wanna ride Dumbo but Mama says I can’t go 'round you."

Al bit his lower lip, struggling to hold in the guffaws at the sight of a small boy getting the drop on Sam.  His eyes were bright with suppressed laughter and he even pressed his lips together hard at the daring narrow glance that his friend threw at him after apologizing to the child and moving forward quickly.  Not until Sam was seated in one of the Dumbo cars and the safety belt was securely in place did he even think about saying anything.  Even then, he waited until Sam was 'airborne' and had gotten the hang of the control button, keeping his initial comment low-key.

"See, nice and easy, just like I said it was," he said lightly, pressing buttons on the handlink to have Ziggy keep him in sync with the motions of the car. That was as much as it was to keep Sam from possibly getting airsick as it was to enable them to continue their conversation without seeming like jack-in-the-boxes.

"Yes, so you said," Sam said.  "Well, this flight is gonna be even shorter than Peter Pan, so enough with the chatter, Al.  How am I supposed to get close to someone who's afraid to get close to anyone?"

"You draw on past experiences," Al said.  "How have you done it in the past?"

"Not well," Sam muttered, jabbing furiously at the button so that his Dumbo suddenly dropped to the bottom of the herd. 

"Sam...you need to lift up," Al said.  "And I mean that figuratively AND literally...your Dumbo's dragging his belly on the ground!"

Sam lowered his eyebrows at Al as he mashed the button again, and his Dumbo soared upward to rejoin the others.  "Some *helpful* advice would be nice, Al," he said.

Al thought for a moment, sorting through memories of his own while thoroughly enjoying the sight of Sam Beckett more or less grimly determined not to be bested by a sweet little elephant with big ears.

"Well, you need to let him see that you ... Howie have something in common," Al suggested.

"I'm open for suggestions," Sam muttered, releasing the button only to quickly press it when, it seemed to him, the Dumbo car directly in front of him was going to descend on top of him.

"Is he afraid of heights?" Al asked then hastily apologized at the dirty look that got him. "Sorry, Sam."

Sam allowed the hologram to squirm a second before telling him, "I tried that. He's not." But that thought led to another that swept away his intent focus on keeping his Dumbo at a higher level than the cars ahead of and behind him. "Al, Russ did react when I mentioned that I was afraid of not succeeding..."

"You...not succeed at anything?" Al snorted. "Sam, you succeed at everything..."

"No, Al, you're wrong," Sam insisted, sparing a sideways look at his friend. "Since I started leaping, I can't count the times that I haven't succeeded..."

The levity left the Observer's mind at the turn of phrase and he looked intently at Sam.  He apparently hadn't tried to hide the concern in his eyes, because Sam added, "I don't mean about the leaps themselves. I mean, think of all the 'firsts' I've experienced, and you have to admit that a lot of the stuff I've had to do during a leap, I've failed at."

"Well, yeah," Al conceded the point. Glancing ahead he said, "Watch up, Sam. The ride's ending."

Sam glanced that direction then back to Al. "Al, I've failed many times, but I've never let it stop me.  Al...what if there's something that Russ doesn't want Howie to see him fail at?"

"Like what?" Al asked.

The car Sam was in began its slow descent to stop, giving the leaper one more moment before he had to disembark. Turning to look at his friend, he said softly, "I don't know. What do they have in common, besides college and their faith?"

"Not much," Al said.  "Different majors, different backgrounds.  Totally different goals."

The ride stopped, and Sam pretended to have trouble unfastening the simple safety belt.  "Al, if you think about it, none of this group really...well, apart from their faith, what do any of them have in common?"

"Well, Skip and Howie are roommates," Al began.  Sam nodded impatiently as he unfastened the belt and stood up, waving off the assistance of the Cast Member who'd been approaching.  He climbed out of the ride vehicle and headed for the exit at the far side.

"As for the girls..." Al shrugged.  "I never could figure out what drew Beth and some of her friends together.  Or what made some of my girls pick their friends, for that matter.  But I do know this.  For those three girls to vacation with three guys...for their FATHERS to let them," he added meaningfully, "there's something...different."  He shrugged.  "I wish you could spend time with Howie, you'd understand what it is."

Sam agreed; he would love to be able to talk with his host to possibly glean some scrap of information...anything, at this point... that would point him in the right direction. And what was more maddening than anything was that he had this small niggling, like something was right there in front of him but just far enough out of reach or out of his line of sight to see it.  In a fleeting moment of pique, he stopped and stamped his foot, letting out an unmistakably impatient sigh. "If I could just get my hands on it, I could get this sorted out and help Russ," he complained impatiently but keeping his voice lowered. "How am I supposed to accomplish anything if I'm denied what I need to work with?" He sighed frustratedly again, put his hands on his hips and scanned the area and crowds around him. He even cast his eyes upward for a second, just remembering to whisper under his breath though not banking the heat of his demand, "You drop me in here to help Russ but then you don't give me anything...not even a clue! What do you want me to do?"

**Let go.**

"What?" Sam whirled on Al, before he realized that it wasn't Al that he'd "heard."

"What what?" Al asked, confused.  "I didn't say anything."

"Never mind," Sam said. 

"Sam, I'm starting to worry about you, pal," Al said.  He shook his head.  "Starting to" was an understatement.  Worry for Sam had overwhelmed him for the better part of his friend's Leaping process.  "You'll help Russ.  I know you will."

"I have to," Sam said, determinedly.

**Yes, you have to let go.**

Sam shook his head as he caught up to the girls as they neared the Mad Tea Party.  "That makes no sense at all," he muttered.

"What?  Sam, you're doing it again..."  Al reached to grab Sam's shoulder, sighing when his hand passed right through his friend.  "Sam, look at me, buddy.  What doesn't make any sense?"

Sam closed his eyes before he looked at his friend.  Al's expression was intent, serious, and it told Sam that the Italian wasn't going to brook any excuses.  Al would stick by his side until he got an answer.

"Letting go," Sam said.  The Observer's expression shifted so rapidly it almost took Sam's breath away as Al gasped.  "What?" Sam asked, now worried for his friend.

Al raised a hand up, as if asking for a moment.  "Where did you hear that?"

Just as Sam was about to answer Al, though he fully expected to get a look from the Observer that said he was starting to think the leaper had finally lost it, the twosome was forced to pause while Juanita and Karen stopped to tell Sam that they were heading to catch the monorail to go back to the resort.

"I'll catch up to you in a minute," Sam assured them. He rolled his eyes at the 'punishment' Juanita warned would be his if he was the last one back to the resort. "What can be worse than wearing a Goofy hat, or a Fozzie Bear shirt?" he groused lightly, pushing down the impatience to get back to his conversation with Al.

"How about wearing both at the same time...tonight at the concert?"  Both girls squealed with giggles at the shudder that brought out of the man they perceived as Howie Lockwood. 

"Point taken," Sam said with firm resolve. "I will not be the last one to the resort."

"We'll be keeping an eye for you," Karen teased then turned and hurried away with Juanita. They were barely out of earshot when Sam turned back to face Al, now not caring who saw him talking to 'thin air' or, worse, himself.  As it was, he had to start talking almost instantly since Al demanded, "Where did you hear that phrase, Sam?"

Sam took a deep breath, hesitated then said, "I..I heard it in... my head," he finally admitted.  Seeing Al's expression changing yet again, he insisted urgently, "Al, I'm not crazy! I heard it as clearly as I'm hearing you. It's just..." He swallowed then shoved his hands into the pockets of his walking shorts. "It's just there's no one...attached to the voice." He hesitated. "Al, I'm not hearing things...but then again, I am..."

Al shook his head.  "Maybe you're picking up some of Howie..."

"No," Sam interrupted.  "It's not like that.  The voice is...familiar.  It's...."  He sighed and nodded towards Cinderella Castle.  "We better start heading for the resort."

Al kept pace with him, "You're not getting out of this conversation that easily, Sam Beckett.  What's familiar about the voice?"

"I'm not sure exactly.  I...I have this vague impression of where I am between Leaps.  It's like...everywhere and nowhere all at once.  And sometimes...there's a Voice."

Al picked up on the capitalization Sam had applied to it this time, and he chewed on his lip.  This was getting into pretty metaphysical territory, and he wasn't sure this was the time or place.  Then again...

"And, this Voice...told you to let go?" Al gently asked, hoping his tone wasn't making Sam think he was questioning his sanity.  He certainly couldn't argue with Sam about what the Leaper experienced between Leaps.

Sam silently considered Al's question as they blended with the crowd moving in the direction of Cinderella Castle. The question was simple enough.  Wasn't it?

"Yes," he said at last. "He...It told me to let go," Sam admitted. "But, Al, you can see it. I can't let go and do nothing."  He hesitated when a man moving past him in the opposite direction gave him a lingering look then continued. "Whoever has been bouncing me around in time always lets me know what it is I'm...wherever I am at whatever moment in time...there to do. Gives me a clue about what to do or how to accomplish the leap. But this time..." Sam sighed and reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck as he walked.  "This time there aren't any clues and I can't get close to the guy I'm here to help.  He...It...whatever is doing this, has tied my hands this time and now...NOW... I'm just supposed to do nothing?  Al," Sam insisted, his frustration now transparent as he moved to, ostensibly, block the hologram's forward motion. "How can I do what has to be done if I don't *do* something?" He sighed. "How do I let go?"  Even asking that question made Sam a little more anxious. Now he searched his best friend's dark eyes, hoping to find the answer in those dark depths.

"You have to trust," Al said quietly.  He looked at Sam.  "Look, Sam, I'm not gonna question you on all the whys and wherefores of what the Voice is or where you heard it.  But, there's something to what it told you."

Sam gawked at Al and then it clicked.  "You've heard the same thing!"

"Not exactly," Al said.  "Howie said it to me last night.  I guess I was frustrating the kid, trying to pick every nugget I could out of his brain where Russ was concerned.  He told me I needed to let go if I wanted to help you."  The Observer shrugged.  "Keep moving, Sam, people are starting to stare at you," he said.  He waited until Sam was focused on navigating through the crowd which was flowing *toward* the castle for the most part.  "It's like a salmon trying to swim upstream," Al said lightly, before continuing on the original conversational thread.  "Anyway, Howie said, basically, that if I would let go of the problem, God would take care of it."

"His eye is on the sparrow," Sam said in an undertone.

"Exactly,” Al said quietly.

“And you think that’s what I’m supposed to do, just let go?” Sam asked, looking into Al’s eyes.

For a moment the two friends just looked at each other, then resumed walking in silence, one trying make what he knew and understood best...logic and science...fit to the simple but vastly broad notion of trust.  The other, older and wiser, just kept an eye on the younger man struggling. Yes, he could open his mouth and offer further examples of trust, and perhaps one of those examples might help his friend to grasp and accept what the two words meant.  But even as that thought occurred to him, Al Calavicci heard something and though not easy to do it, did it anyway. He remained quiet. He understood that he, too, had to let go and let Another show his friend what to do. Or not.

PART FOUR

Disney’s Contemporary Resort

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

5:30 PM

By the time Sam got off the monorail at the Contemporary Resort a short time later, he had acquired a new degree of frustration born out of the Observer's unusual quietness. That, coupled with the utter lack of being able to even whisper to Al to bounce ideas off him or even ask questions, had put a bit of a damper on Sam's attitude, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Observer as he kept pace with Sam all the way to the room. Sam barely spared his friend a glance when Al said, "Sam, I'm going to go back and check with Dom to see if they've had any luck cracking Disney's firewall. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Yeah, okay," Sam said under his breath then immediately dismissed the Observer when Skip stuck his head out of the bathroom.

"There you are," Skip said, poking his head out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in one hand. "Where's Russ?" Skip's question diverted the leaper's thoughts from the 'rat wheel' they were on as his mind continued to try to make the bits and scraps of information about Russ fit together.

Kicking his shoes off beside his cot, Sam looked over at Skip.  "I thought he rode back with you and the girls.”

"Uh uh," Skip mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste. Stepping into the bathroom again, he spat out the toothpaste foam then resumed brushing his teeth. "He was with us, but then he said he would catch up with us here."

"Where was the last place you saw him?"

Skip rinsed his mouth and wiped it dry on a facecloth before facing Sam.  "Main Street.  He ducked into the Emporium.  I figured he was looking for something for his Mom."

"Maybe," Sam said. 

"Hey, Howie, cheer up!  You weren't the last one back.  That means Russ is in for whatever Ginger's got up her sleeve."

The football player padded into the main room to get dressed, leaving Sam standing in the sink area of the restroom staring at his own expression.  Was the good-natured punishment what would drive Russ over the edge?  The Goofy ball cap perched atop his head would speak otherwise, though, Sam thought as he yanked it off his head.  That had been Russ' idea of a punishment, and he seemed to gamely play along with the others.

No, Sam thought, whatever it was that affected Russ was something the young man was holding close to the vest.  It had to do with whatever kept him from truly opening up to the others.  He thought back to Al's words about breaking through Russ' wall.  Sam frowned thoughtfully. 

"Howie...you gonna take a shower?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam quickly called, moving his body now as well as his  mind.  Al was right, he'd broken through Al's wall--a wall that had been composed of anger and booze.  The closer he'd gotten to Al, the more he'd gained an understanding for what had caused that--strain between he and Beth over numerous hospital visits with Christa combined with the stress of Starbright and Al’s own Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.  But what was the basis of Russ' wall?

Sam went through the motions of showering and changing his clothes, forcing himself to stay in the moment, swapping idle chatter with Skip.  It came as a bit of a surprise when Skip checked his watch and said, "Come on, let's go get the girls."

"And go where?" Sam asked. He just nodded when Skip said, "Well the idea of getting some dinner before the concert appeals to the rest of us."

"What about Russ?" Sam asked. "If you want, I can wait here for him..."

"No need," Skip assured him as he headed for the door and opened then looked back at Sam.  "He and Ginger decided we were going to have dinner with Chef Mickey, so he knows where we'll be."

Sam hesitated a moment then smiled and walked out ahead of Skip.

After collecting the girls, who made a teasing fuss that, "Aw darn it, Howie, you spoiled the plans!" the friends headed for the elevator.

"What plan?" Sam asked, unable to keep his lips from twitching as he watched Juanita's eyes sparkling.

"Well, Karen found these really neat glow-in-the-dark Mickey Mouse stickers. We were going to stick them all over your pants so that you would be a true sight to see with your Fozzie shirt and Goofy cap."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Sam said lightly as the group went to the elevator. "Maybe next year. For now, you'll have to settle for decking Russ out."

They left the elevator bank and headed to the right, following the signs that led the way to Chef Mickey's.  Sam paused momentarily as they walked.  Even though they'd both caught and disembarked from the monorail in the central lobby area of the Contemporary Resort, to see the sleek white vehicles, each bearing its own unique color stripe down the side, swooshing smoothly past on the single concrete guide rail was a sight that easily took Sam's breath away.

"Wow," he breathed, watching the monorail pass through the large glass wall that composed the center of the A-shaped building.  He watched until the last car of the monorail made its exit, then drew his attention lower, to the silver sign that proclaimed CHEF MICKEY'S, the iconic mouse wearing a chef's hat and apron and holding a fork and spoon serving as its icon.

"There's Russ," Skip said, jabbing Sam in the side.  "He may not smell as good as we do, but there he is."

Sure enough, there was the young man, standing in the entranceway to the restaurant, waving them down.  Sam breathed a sigh of relief. 

"They just called our table," Russ said in a loud voice, beckoning them over.  They followed the Cast Member through the restaurant, the smells of the buffet teasing Sam's stomach the entire way to their table.

"Welcome to Chef Mickey's," the Cast Member, Cheryl, happily told them.  "Have you eaten here before?"

All six heads shook a negative response.

"Well, I'll take your drink orders, then you can help yourself to the buffet.  And the characters will come to your table for photos and autographs.  Tonight we have Chef Goofy, Chef Chip, Chef Dale, and, of course, Chef Mickey.  But keep your eyes open, Minnie and Donald might make an appearance too."  Cheryl smiled at them all and took their soda orders, urging them to help themselves to the buffet.

"Did you hear that, Howie?" teased Karen.  "Chef Goofy's here."

"We are soooo getting a picture of that!" agreed Ginger, lightly flicking the bill of Sam's Goofy cap.

The flick on the bill of the hat was the limit for Sam and he grabbed it off his head.  "No," he refused with a vague bit of a scowl at Ginger's insistence that he put it back on. "Where I was raised, you take your hat off in the house or any indoor area.  Uh uh," he continued to insist, keeping a grip on the hat that Ginger was trying to prise from his fingers. "If my Mom were to see me in a restaurant...even here...with a hat on, she'd have my hide."

"Since when did you acquire manners?" Skip ribbed him.  "I thought your idea of gracious living was folded paper towel coasters."

In spite of the teasing, which only lapsed when Sam deliberately folded the Goofy hat as much as he could and stuffed it into his pants pocket, his spirits were starting to pick up.  For only a moment did the worry about successfully preventing Russ from vanishing cross his mind, and then just as quickly it was gone.

"Come on, let's go get in line," Sam said, standing up.  "I'm hungry enough to try everything." The others followed suit. Sam and Russ brought up the rear of the group.

"I thought you got lost after the Dumbo ride," Sam said idly, glancing at the other man.  "Where'd you go?"

"I, uh, I went shopping in the Emporium," Russ said.

"You didn't find anything?" asked Sam, grabbing a plate and starting to fill it with fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and green beans.

"Nothing my mother would like," shrugged Russ.  "She's not into the cutesy theme park stuff.  I guess I'll have to try one of the smaller shops."  He dumped a spoonful of macaroni and cheese onto his plate.

"What does your mother like?" asked Sam, wondering if he'd stumble upon a clue as to what made Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. tick.

Russ used a pair of tongs to grab a roll from a basket.  "Antiques, mostly.  Stuff from Saks."  He dropped the roll on his plate and gestured with the tongs.  "This isn't really her thing."

"Disney?" Sam asked, taking the tongs from Russ when the other offered them to him.  He grabbed a roll for himself.

"Yeah.  Disney.  Fun in general, you could almost say," Russ said offhandedly.  He stepped to the side as a couple of children dashed forward to throw their arms around Pluto, who was marching through the restaurant and waving.  "She'd roll her eyes at that," Russ said, as they wove back to their table.  He affected a high-pitched voice.  "Russell, don't carry on so, it's just a man in a costume."

Sam gaze remained fixed on Russ' face as the other watched the two gleeful small children laughing and giggling as Pluto fussed over them in his own way.  He didn't see the bright-eyed happiness of the children as the children's mother said, unnecessarily, "Jamie...Sandy ...smile!" What he saw was a fleeting return of the sadness he'd glimpsed on Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr.'s face more than once since the leap had begun.

When the picture was taken and the children once more headed back to their table and chattering non-stop to anyone who would listen, Sam nudged Russ. Returning to their table Sam said, "My Mom gets a kick out of stuff like this."  Setting his plate down, Sam took his seat, watching Russ closely. "When I was kid, we went to Disneyland one summer. She was the one who convinced my Dad to stay an extra day because it was my birthday."

Russ, picked up his own fork and scooped up a bite of the macaroni and cheese, studied it a moment before popping it in his mouth.  After chewing and swallowing it, he started for another bite then hesitated.  "Yeah, well, I'd lay even money that your mother didn't tell you that going to church was a waste of time and education, either," he said quietly.  Finishing that bite he started for another then put the fork down on his plate. Picking up the roll, Russ tore it in half, put half of it down then proceeded to slowly pick the half in his hands into pieces, dropping them on the uneaten macaroni and cheese on his plate.  After a minute, he looked over and found his friend and mentor watching him.  A half-hearted smile that tried to warm up spread across his face then slipped away again.  "Tell me something, Howie," Russ said quietly. "When was the last time you had to fight your family to do something good for yourself?" Watching his friend swallowing a bite of food, he added, "My guess is never.  You've got it, Howie. You've got it all." A small laugh escaped his lips. "And all I want is a little."

Sam hesitated before answering.  The others at the table didn't seem to be aware of their conversation as they giggled and teased.  The girls kept watching to see which character might first approach their table.

"A little what?" Sam asked.

Russ shook his head, swirling his fork in the macaroni and cheese to mix the bits of bread he'd dropped there in with it.  He took a bite of roast beef.

Sam decided to continue pressing, but gently.  "But your dad paid for us all to come here," he reminded Russ.

"Dad's just glad I'm not boozing it up anymore," Russ said.  "He doesn't care if it's church I've found.  He wouldn't care if I shaved my head and passed out flowers in the airport so long as I wasn't killing my brain cells off."  Russ abruptly shook his head.  "No, I take that back...he would care about that.  That would be embarrassing.  My going to church is at least normal."

"Russ," Sam began, but Russ cut him off.

"You don't understand, Howie.  You've got a family that supports you.  Me..."  He broke off and shrugged.  "Look at that family over there.  That's what I picture yours like."

Sam followed Russ' gaze to a family of four, the children's faces lighting up as Chef Goofy entered the room, waving.  He stopped by the table and ruffled the kids' hair, signing their autograph books with an oversize pen.  "Over here, Goofy," said the father in a loud voice.  "Tommy's been looking forward to meeting you all day."  Goofy put his hands to his face in an "Aw, shucks," manner, before mugging with the small child.  The mother beamed and snapped pictures while the father filmed the entire encounter on video.

Sam turned back to Russ.  "My family's not like that," he tried.  "Sure, my mom was all excited and into the magic, but my Dad was more practical."

"He was still there, though," Russ said.

Before Sam could say anything, Karen had jumped up to embrace Goofy, who was now visiting their table.

As much as he wanted to avoid it, Sam had to endure being introduced to Goofy and the inevitable pictures that the girls insisted on. Even though he wanted more than anything to turn away and go back and continue the conversation with Russ, even the Beckett focus was set aside as Sam got into the mood of the moment, pulling out the wadded Goofy hat to put on again.  He grinned sheepishly, apologizing when Chef Goofy took the hat and made a show of smoothing the bill and ears then turned the hat as if looking into the big eyes on it before sighing.  With a flourish he proceeded to put it firmly on Sam's head, an action that sent Ginger into near hysterical giggles, then wagged a finger at the end of Sam's nose with one hand while smoothing one of the rumpled ear flaps on the cap.  Sam took the 'lecture' in stride and the spirit it was given.

"I'm sorry, Chef Goofy," he apologized again. "I promise I won't fold it up any more."  Seeing the pleased reaction from the 'chef', Sam's reward for his promise was to be swept into Chef Goofy's arms for a quick hug before being released to resume his seat at the table.

Once again the girls began chattering and even Skip got into the moment, counting off every place back at college that he was going to post the “sweet picture of Goofy...and the Goofy wannabe.”

Sam listened for a moment then shifted his attention back to Russ.  The polite smile and interest on his roommate's face didn't fool him for a moment.

"You're still thinking of what your parents would say about that encounter, aren't you?" Sam asked.

Russ pressed his lips together briefly, but nodded.

Sam shrugged.  "I know that was just a man in a costume," he said in a low voice, so as not to ruin the magic for any nearby children.  "But it's kind of fun to get in touch with the child within, I guess."

Russ shrugged.  "I don't think I have one."

"Oh, come on, Russ... everyone's got one."  Sam gestured back at the family Russ had earlier called his attention to, little Tommy still watching Goofy's every move, despite his mother's attempts to get him to finish his meal.  "Deep down inside of you, isn't there still a five-year-old that wants to believe elephants can fly, that mice can talk?"

"Suffer the little children," Russ said in a low voice.  "For of such is the kingdom of heaven."

"Right," Sam said, encouraged by the conversation's turn.  "Like a child believes..."

Russ shook his head.  "That's easy when you actually *had* a childhood."  He abruptly lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure the others hadn't picked up on the conversation, even though they were seated at a round table that would have easily seated eight, and Sam was the only one next to him.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, wondering if the first brick in Russ' wall was starting to drop out.

"It means that at that kid's age," Russ said softly, glancing yet again across to little Tommy, his expression still enraptured as he physically turned in his chair to watch Chef Goofy as he left the dining room. “I was being reminded that none of this was real. That all the characters…even Mickey Mouse… were just men and women in costumes being paid to go around and greet people.” Russ closed his eyes for a moment, recalling instantly the sound of his mother’s voice from all those years ago as she’d told him, “They aren’t really the characters they are pretending to be.  They’re just people doing a job, Russell.”

"Bye, Goofy! Bye! I can't wait to meet you again!" Tommy called out, not caring that every eye in the dining room had turned to watch him.  Goofy paused in the doorway of the dining room and scanned it.  Seeing the excited little boy with a broad beaming smile on his face as he waved as hard as he could, Goofy raised his hands to his cheeks for a moment then without hesitation made a beeline back to Tommy.

Tommy laughed delightedly, jumping up from his chair and flinging himself into Goofy's embrace.  "I love you, Goofy!  You're the best. I'm going miss you when we go back home."  The little boy’s enthusiasm bubbled up like clear, refreshing water from a spring. "But I'll come back again.  Will you remember me?"

Russ, like every other person in the dining room, watched the innocent faith of a child in an imaginary character, only his viewing was with a hint of envy.  Even after Goofy crossed his heart as a promise to remember the little boy and took his leave again, Russ felt an emptiness inside.  *If that kid believes so much in a man in a character suit, then why can’t I believe in God the same way?*

**He believes and trusts without question.  Do you?**

"Will he really remember the kid?" Russ said under his breath.  "He's just a kid. There are... hundreds of kids coming here every day.  How can one man remember one specific kid?"  Shaking his head, Russ sighed and drew his attention back to his plate then, after a moment, to his friend. "But then, it would just be good to know that somebody cared whether or not you came back."  Gazing into Sam's eyes, he added, "You would be missed.  Me, on the other hand..." he shrugged. "My parents would probably think that I'd just gotten tired of my latest 'thing' and gone looking for something new."

Sam's jaw dropped.  "Russ, is it that bad at home?" he asked.  "Why didn't you ever tell us?"

Russ shrugged.  "What could any of you do about it?"

"Well..."

"We could have prayed," Skip put in.

Russ looked past Sam to Skip, who was looking at him with concern.  "I've tried that," he said shortly.

Sam looked from Skip to Russ.  "What else have you tried?" he asked, but the room was in a hubbub again as Chef Mickey entered the room.  Simultaneously, a song started and Minnie dashed in, waving a napkin in her hand and pantomiming that everyone should do the same.  Reluctantly, Sam obediently followed suit as the characters began a dance through the restaurant, napkins waving in time to the music. 

When the song ended, Russ got up to fill a new plate.  Sam started to get up to follow him, despite the girls' protests that Mickey would be at their table any minute.  The sound of the Imaging Chamber Door opening drew his attention, though.  He turned his head to the right, expecting to see Al, and jumped slightly when he found himself nose to nose with a giant mouse.

Mickey immediately put his white-gloved hands to his face and emphatically shook his shoulders in silent laughter.  Al stepped to the side, and grinned weakly at Mickey, clad in a tall white chef's hat and red chef's jacket. 

"Better get your picture with Mickey, Sam, and then we need to talk," he said.

Sam could only look at the Observer, trying to read his eyes but that moment vanished as yet again Ginger, Juanita and Karen swarmed around him and Chef Mickey, snapping pictures as fast as they could.  For the moment or two it took to satisfy his female companions seemingly insatiable yen for pictures, pictures and more pictures, Sam gave up and threw his arms around Chef Mickey and mugged with abandon.  It was only the sight of Russ returning to the table with a plate with a slice of chocolate cake topped with ice cream that told him he needed some time alone with his Observer.

"Thanks, Mickey," he said in a grand manner to the famous mouse. "Give Minnie this hug..." he gave the large character one last hug, "...for me."  Then Sam slipped free of Mickey Mouse and made his escape.  Winding his way back toward the front of the restaurant, he spotted the restroom signs and wasted no time in getting to the men's room.  Luck seemed to be on his side, since the restroom was deserted except for Al.

"What did you find out?" he demanded, not bothering with idle chatter.

"Dom broke through the Disney firewall...finally," Al said.  He shook his head, hating what they'd discovered.  "We found out the specifics of Russ' death."

"And?" Sam snapped.  "Get to the point, Al!"

Al flinched at Sam's anger.  It was hard enough for him to read it; what Sam didn't realize was that he was steeling himself to say it.  "Okay.  Russ' body is found later tonight, after the fireworks.  He apparently jumped from the balcony of your room...on the eleventh floor."

It felt like time stood still for a moment as Sam reeled back from the grimness of what he heard.  He stared into the Observer's dark eyes. "Are you...is Ziggy sure?" he finally whispered, his mind in a whirl at what he now knew he had to prevent.

Al just nodded. "Believe me, after what it took to get past that firewall of Disney's, Ziggy downloaded everything she could find about Russ and then double-checked it against the death certificate. So, yeah she's positive."

Sam started to ask 'why' but the dinner table conversation he'd had with Russ just minutes earlier came rushing back at him.  That was enough to send him toward the door. 

"Sam, where are you going?" Al said, the question halting his friend.

"To find Russ and stop him from making a stupid mistake," Sam came back sharply.  "I've got to talk some sense into him. I've got to..."

**Let go.**

Those two little words echoed softly in his mind but the echoes from them reached farther inside the leaper than before.

"No, I can't," he insisted, not seeing Al's reaction followed by realization of what was happening with Sam.

**Russ isn't yours to save. He's mine.**

"But you sent me here to help him," Sam said, turning away from Al only to find himself looking into the mirror above the sinks.  Staring at Howie Lockwood's reflection, he insisted to the Voice, "Let me do what you sent me here to do."

**You have, Sam. Now...let go of Russ.**

"But..." Sam whispered to the reflection.

**Trust Me, Sam. ... Let go.**

Sam shook his head, closing his eyes and dropping his head forward.  "It's hard."

"Yes, it is, Sam.  But you have to do it."  Sam's head whipped up when he suddenly realized that it was Al's voice he had just heard.

The Observer's expression was serious, yet soft.  He gripped the handlink with both hands, as he nodded earnestly at Sam.  "You're hearing the Voice again, aren't you?"

"How did you know?"

Al shrugged and grinned.  "I am your Observer, Sam."  He grew serious again.  "It's right...He's right...you have to let go.  If you go rushing in there trying to talk Russ out of something he hasn't even decided to do yet..."

"How do you know?"

Al lifted the handlink.  "His ticket was swiped back into the park at 6:58 PM, along with the rest of you."  At Sam's surprised expression, Al shrugged again.  "I told you...Ziggy grabbed every bit of information she could."

"So what am I supposed to do?  Just let him go?"

"Keep an eye on him, Sam.  Keep your ears open...just, don't try to control things."  Al braced himself for the Leaper's response.

Sam did a double take, half turning away from the Observer only to turn and confront him.

"Al, if someone isn't in control of this situation, a very troubled young man is going to make a mistake his family and friends will regret for the rest of their lives.  What's wrong with you?" He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "Look, I was sent here to help Russ and I'm going to do it."  The Observer's response was like a dousing of cold water on the heat of Sam's passionate intent to save Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. from himself.

"Then you're going to cause history to repeat itself," Al told him plainly, his tone one that wouldn't allow the hearer to ignore it.

"No it won't!" Sam insisted, tension steadily rising inside him. "Al, he needs me..."

"No, Sam," Al said firmly and without rancor as he held his friend's gaze. "You know what you have to do."  He kept his gaze fixed on the leaper, understanding in his own way the struggle going on behind those green eyes.  After a moment he said softly, "I can't stop you, Sam. All I know is that if you go against what you *know*, you're going to hurt not only Russ but yourself, too."

Sam glared at the Observer, his eyes hard and resentful for several long moments before he let a small cry of frustration out.  He wrenched the spigot on the sink, starting a flow of water, and splashed the water on his face.  He wrenched it off just as viciously and yanked a paper towel from the dispenser to pat his face dry.

"What I know is that in that restaurant, there's a scarred young man, who's just started opening up to Howie...to me...about his parents.  Now I'm supposed to just sit back and WATCH?"

"Let him open up to you, Sam," Al said.  "But yes...just watch.  Don't try to guide him into some sort of epiphany or give him pat reassurances." 

Sam frowned.  That's what he'd been about to do, hadn't he? 

"So what else is there to do?"

"Just listen.  Like you did with me all those years ago.  Don't push him."

"But, Al...he's going to kill himself!"

"If you push him," Al countered.  "There'll be a moment to act.  Right now, though, it's time to listen."

"Kind of hard to do when a Disney character's stopping at your table every five minutes," Sam griped.

Al smiled.  "As long as he's got an ear available, he'll take it."

"What if he doesn't?" Sam pressed.  He shook his head.  "I've got to go back out there."

"Sam..."

The Leaper lifted his wrist to display Howie's watch.  "I've been in here too long, Al.  If what Russ needs is an available ear, then the one he's chosen to make use of has been missing for too long."

A moment stretched between the leaper and the hologram in which not a word passed between them, their eyes doing all the talking necessary. The moment ended when Sam sighed, dropped his head a moment and closed his eyes then lifted it up again to find Al's dark gaze still steady on him. Giving a single nod, Sam exited the bathroom and headed back to the table, forcing himself not to rush when he saw all five of the others starting to get up and move away from it, toward him.

"Hey, dude," Skip said with a grin. "I was about to call the main desk and have then send in the Chip-n-Dale Search and Rescue Team after you.  We thought you might’ve fallen in," He glanced his friend over.  The jock's wide grin got wider when the girls and Russ chuckled, too.

"Yeah, well... I didn't," Sam finished lamely. His gaze flitted to Russ, almost frustrated that once more the easy "I'm in control" mask had slipped into place over his features. "So, where to now?" he said, stepping aside to let the girls move ahead of him, falling in behind Russ as they left the restaurant.  As he brought up the rear of the group, the itch, the urge to grab Russ and try to talk the younger man out of what he knew was a bad idea was almost tangible.

"I SAID LET GO!"

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, jerking his hands behind his back almost guiltily. "Okay," he muttered under his breath, only to realize in the next second that it wasn't the Voice in his head, but a man nearby speaking to his young son.

Shaking himself, Sam proceeded forward along with the group, as they made their way through the resort to the monorail station.  He made sure to stay near to Russ as they waited for the monorail to make its approach.  Once it did, they all filed on for the trip back to the Magic Kingdom.

Easy chatter was their accompaniment to the recorded spiel about the various resorts they passed, as well as information about the Magic Kingdom and the Seven Seas Lagoon.  Each time the monorail stopped to pick up and drop off passengers, Sam regarded Russ, trying to determine if the conversation that had earlier been abandoned was weighing on the young man's mind, or if his companion would choose to rely on the shoulder available to him.  He only hoped that either of those two possibilities would take place before the evening came to an end. 

*And before YOU come to an end, Russ,* Sam thought intently toward the young man.

To be continued

===============

c—“It’s A Small World (After All)” music and lyrics by Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman, © 1963 Wonderland Music Company, Inc.

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 Big Thunder Mountain, The Haunted Mansion, Space Mountain, and Splash 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 final scene in The Haunted Mansion clip is of the Hitchhiking Ghosts.)