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 III:

The magic, happiness, and pixie dust of the Magic Kingdom couldn’t fully reach Sam as he himself tried to reach Russ, succeeding in fits and starts, it seemed.  His concern for Russ increased when an unexpected vision tormented him in the midst of the spooky silliness of the Haunted Mansion.  Despite his every attempt to stick like glue to Russ’ side, Sam found that the young man managed to give him the slip.  Finally having broken through both the Lovet-Hurston and the Disney computers, Al delivered the unfortunate news to Sam that the truth about Russ’ disappearance had been uncovered—the young man jumped to his death from their resort balcony.  Sam’s determination to prevent Russ’ death took an unexpected turn when he was advised to relinquish control from an unexpected quarter.

PART ONE

Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

6:52 PM

Once back at the Magic Kingdom, the group got out of the mainstream flow of people, the majority now being those who had come for the Nights of Joy, to discuss how to fill the time until it was time for the concert to start.

Juanita pulled a well-creased and folded flyer from the pocket of her slacks and opened it, scanning it quickly.  "The concert starts at 8:30 and it's…" she glanced at her wristwatch.  "7:00 now.  So... we could go get our wristbands and then..." she hesitated, glancing around the group. "Stick around for the fireworks."

"What about staking out a sweet spot?" Skip brought up that important point.  Almost as a single unit, five sets of eyes turned toward Sam. It took two seconds for him to put two and two together.

"Oh come on, no fair," he protested somewhat. "Why me?"

Ginger grinned as she stepped over to Sam and slipped her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder.  "Why not you... Howie?"

"You really think that's going to sway me?" he demanded, his tone telling her that he wasn't really mad.

"Make you a deal," Ginger continued to barter with the guy she considered to be one of her best friends. 

"I'm listening... sort of," Sam responded warily.

Skip grinned, nudging Russ lightly with his elbow. "Watch this," he whispered.

"If you'll stake out the sweet spot..."

"When we find it," Karen piped up.

"Yeah, when we find it," Ginger continued. "Then... then all punishments are rescinded."

"And that entails exactly what?" Sam asked; he wanted specifics from this sneaky if sweet redhead.

Ginger straightened up and faced Sam now. "That means that you don't have to wear the Goofy cap any more. And you don't have to wear the Fozzie Bear shirt AND the Goofy cap on the plane trip home." Her eyes twinkled as she demanded lightly, "So, is it a deal?"

Sam looked around the group, seeing only grins then back to she with the bargaining chip. "Deal," he said.

Skip laughed aloud, giving Russ a light slap on the shoulder.  "Ginger can charm the birds outta the trees."  Going over to Sam, he told him, "My only word of advice to you, Dude, is to make a stop at one of the restrooms before you take up your post. Because once the people start filling in, the lines are going to be soooo long!"

"Thanks, Skip... I went at the restaurant, remember?" Sam grinned. 

They fell in the line to exchange their Night of Joy tickets for wristbands authorizing them to remain in the park for the exclusive event.

"You missed some good dessert, too," joked Russ as they waited their turn.

"I didn't think I took THAT long," Sam said.

"Dude," Skip said, turning around, "Chip, Dale, AND Donald made the rounds... AND we got the check.  What happened?  Mac and cheese too rich for you?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam shrugged.

"Like I said," Skip said, as it was his turn to swap ticket for a wristband, "you better go before you start saving the spot in front of the castle.  I wanna be RIGHT there when S-C-squared launches into 'The Great Adventure.'  What a song, man!  What a song!"

"Yeah, it's great," Sam covered, hoping his enthusiasm sounded authentic.  "Don't you agree, Russ?"

Russ, tilted his head to the side.  "It's all right," he said.

"Just all right?" enthused Skip, waving his wrist that now bore a bright green wristband.  "Man, that song is what it's all about! 

'Saddle up your horses, we've got a trail to blaze...

Through the wild blue yonder of God's amazing grace,'" he sang, stepping aside to let Sam and Russ have access to the patient Cast Member.  "'Let's follow our Leader, into the glorious unknown...

This is a life like no other, ohhhh, this is the Great Adventure!'"^d

Russ appeared to have gotten beyond the conversation back at the restaurant, evidenced as he made a show of putting his hands over his ears until Skip's enthusiastic rendition of the song had ended. "God made the deaf to hear, the lame to walk, and the blind to see," he said to Skip. "Unfortunately, helping the tone deaf to sing on key wasn't on His list."

Skip pulled a face at Russ as the girls and Sam chuckled in spite of themselves.

"Yeah, well, maybe so," Skip defended his vocal skills as they all moved away from the Cast Member to allow others to have access to getting a wristband. "But the Bible doesn't say a thing about singing on key... just to make a joyful noise before the Lord..."

Sam couldn't help himself. "In that case Skip, you are covered from top to bottom, front and back, and all the way around."

"Ha, ha, ha," Skip said as they entered the park, walking beneath the Main Street station to transition completely into the world of nostalgia and make-believe.

Since they weren't in a rush, they took more time to appreciate the detail afforded to Main Street, U.S.A.  The Victorian era buildings were exquisitely designed, each shop and doorway meticulously maintained and decorated.  As they walked down the street, their attention was drawn to the castle.

"That's where he's going to be!" Karen enthused, tugging at Ginger's arm excitedly.

"Yes, Karen," Ginger said, rolling her eyes.  "Sheesh, you're as bad as Skip."

"Hey!  I resemble that remark!" Skip said, pushing his floppy hair off his forehead.  "Front row for S-C-squared, here we come!"  He and Karen linked arms and began walking toward the castle, splaying their legs sideways as they did so.  Giving Sam and Russ a meaningful look, Skip started singing loudly and off-key, "Here we come... walking down the street... we get the funniest looks from... everyone we meet!"

"Oh, give me a break!" groaned Russ.  He pointed as they drew close to the castle.  "Looks like one last round of character Meet'N'Greets before they start getting ready for the fireworks."

"Front and center, Howie," Ginger called out.

Hearing Ginger calling Howie's name, Sam sighed then dutifully presented himself to her. Of course that meant scanning the already bustling, busy area until he saw her waving madly. "Okay, I'm here. Now what?"

Ginger glanced around the area where she stood then looked at Sam.  "You plant... yourself right here," she said, walking off the boundary of the area the six of them would occupy. "And repel all who would encroach on this..."

"If you say hallowed ground," Sam warned, "the deal's off." For a moment it was a battle of twinkling eyes and determined eyes. Determined won. 

"...area," she finished, conceding the point to her friend. "Meanwhile, the rest of will check out where the refreshment stands and restrooms are and....whatever else comes to mind between now and when the fireworks start.  Which will be in about a half hour or so." Fixing Sam with a mock-stern look, she said, "You have your orders. Deserters will get back all previously rescinded punishments."  Glancing over at Karen, Ginger waved her along.  "Let's go check out the merchandise areas.  There are a couple of CDs I want to get."

The girls disappeared and Sam looked at Russ and Skip.  "She doesn't honestly expect me to forbid people to stand in an area large enough for six of us, does she?"

Skip shrugged.  "You agreed to her terms, bucko."  He punched Russ lightly on the shoulder.  "Wanna give the Tea Cups another spin?"

"Sure," Russ said, grinning broadly.

"You guys are LEAVING me?" Sam complained.

In response, the duo waved goodbye to him and proceeded up the ramp to go through the castle to Fantasyland.

"Great, just great," Sam muttered as he watched them go.  He looked helplessly around at the crowd that was starting to gather nearby.  "Um... this spot's taken," he said apologetically to a very large man with a wide-eyed little girl standing beside him.

"By who?" the man said.

"Um..." Sam said.  He gestured for the man to take the spot, figuring Ginger wouldn't notice if their "area" had taken one very large man's step to the right.

During the half hour until the fireworks would begin, though he would have rather done a jack-knife into a vat of Jell-O, Sam dutifully but diplomatically managed to keep the boundary of the area Ginger had marked off free of others also looking for a prime viewing position. Most were good-natured, or at least understanding of his explanation. A couple gave him narrow looks before moving on.

The shades of twilight had begun to give way to the first fringes of darkness when a confident male voice came over the loud speakers announcing, "Fantasy In the Sky will be starting in just a few minutes."

"And I'm still walking guard duty," Sam muttered, keeping his voice to a low whisper.  But even being 'stuck with the duty' couldn't deny or prevent the growing sense of excitement and anticipation beginning to circulate among the crowd of attendees that, by the leaper's estimation, numbered in the several hundreds.  Every time he turned to walk to the other side of his little square, Sam scanned the crowds, hoping to catch sight of the girls or Skip,  and especially Russ, returning to join him.

The announcement about the fireworks came on again. Sam checked his wristwatch, angling to catch some light on the face of the dial. 8:09 p.m.

"Where is everybody?" he muttered. In the midst of the excited people gathered to enjoy and rejoice with several well-known contemporary Christian music artists, Sam Beckett was beginning to get an uneasy prickling on the back of his neck. It didn't get any better when, six minutes later, the announcer came on to tell them that the fireworks would begin in one minute. But Sam's thoughts weren't on fireworks or funny punishments cooked up by Howie's friends or the soon to begin music of praise and worship. No, his thoughts were consumed by one thing...one solitary thought that began to loop through his head endlessly: Where are you Russ?

It didn't help that at the same moment Al popped in beside Sam, his expression grim, that Sam heard a whisper that he'd hoped had forgotten about him.

***Get ready to fail again, Sam.***

"Sam," Al said urgently. "Where's Russ?"

Sam pushed away the snide whisper still echoing in his mind, forcing himself to focus on his Observer's face.  He had seen this expression too many times to not get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  "What's wrong?"

Al was double-checking the information that had sent him hurrying into the Imaging Chamber.  "Where's Russ?" The question finished the sinking feeling for Sam.

"I don't know," he admitted. "After I got 'elected' to stake out this spot for the concert, he went off with Skip to ride the Teacups again."

"When I went back," Al told him, continuing to glance at the information scrolling across the handlink's small screen. "I told Ziggy to monitor Russ' whereabouts as best she could in this mob."  Looking up at his friend's concerned expression, Al told him, "About ten minutes ago, Ziggy said that Russ' movements had become erratic.  For a few minutes before he had been more or less stationary. And then about two minutes ago, she said that she noticed him moving away from that stationary point. I had her correlate both positions in reference to this point and the Contemporary Resort to get an idea of what direction he's heading." He paused to catch a breath, even as Sam demanded, "Where's Russ now, Al?"

Al looked into Sam's eyes, keeping his manner and tone crisp to deflect the bad feeling that was growing inside. "Given the size of the crowds... the people leaving because of the concert as well as those coming *for* the concert..."  He punched in a query to Ziggy, not liking but repeating the response anyway. "Ziggy figures that right now, Russ is about four minutes from reaching the Resort."  He lowered the handlink. "You gotta go after him, Sam!"

It was a quandary that shouldn't have even been entertained by the leaper, yet it was.  He glanced around at the patch of space he'd promised to keep open for the others even as he recalled with sharp clarity what Al had told him had happened to Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. in the original history.

"Al, I..."

Al saw it in Sam's eyes and jumped on it with all of the fierceness of his active military days coloring his tone and attitude. "Sam, Russ is going to die... tonight... probably in the next fifteen minutes!  I don't care what you're supposed to be doing here right now, which doesn't look like a whole hell of a lot. This," he waved his hand holding the handlink dismissively at the empty patch of ground, "doesn't mean jack!  When it comes to a person's life, nothing... NOTHING... is more important."

It wasn't often that Sam got the rough side of the Observer's tongue, but right now, it was what he needed.  Concerts would come and go, but if the troubled young man probably already in the elevator going up to their room at the resort, wasn't stopped... if he, Sam Beckett, didn't stop him, for Russ everything would come to a tragically too early end.

Sam squared his shoulders and gave the hologram a firm look. "Go find where Russ is, Al, and get back to me as soon as possible," he told him.  Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the hologram winked out of his sight.  He didn't waste another glance or thought on how the others would be disappointed at losing the 'sweet spot'. They would, he was certain , feel far worse if they lost their friend.

Turning, Sam started into the crowd, almost plowing into Skip coming at him with a bright-eyed grin.  "Dude, you deserting your post? Ginger's gonna...."

"I'm going back to the resort," Sam responded tersely and continued to push past Skip, not bothering to look back when he heard Skip call out, "What's at the room that can't wait 'til after the concert?"  Sam didn't see the expression that came over the jock's face when he heard his friend's voice float back over the crowd saying a single word... a name. "Russ."

Skip Lagerman stood frozen for a moment as he watched Howie shove his way through the crowd on his way back down Main Street toward the exit.  His mind raced.  After they'd taken a spin on the Teacups, Russ had headed off to Tomorrowland in search of a Mickey Bar, he'd said.  Skip had let him go, meandering in that direction himself to watch the Tomorrowland Indy Speedway drivers maneuvering the cars around the track.  It was after only about thirty seconds of people watching that Skip had decided to join Russ for that Mickey bar.  He'd headed into Tomorrowland, coming upon a cart selling the ubiquitous treat as soon as he rounded the first corner.  Russ had been nowhere in sight.

That had been his first feeling that something odd was going on.  As he exited Tomorrowland and headed back towards the hub and the castle forecourt area, where Howie was standing guard duty, Skip had gotten his second odd moment of the evening.  Howie was gesturing and talking intensely to the man standing next to him... or so Skip had thought at first.  As he drew closer, he realized that the large man, as well as several other people in the crowd were giving Howie a strange look and edging slightly away, for Howie was actually conversing with... himself, or worse... no one.

Skip had thought for a fleeting moment that it was another one of Howie's gags, but the serious expression on his friend's face told him otherwise.  He drew near to him, just as Howie started to take off.  Hoping to slow him down, worried about his friend, Skip adopted a disarming smile and teased him about deserting his post.  Howie wasn't to be deterred, and urgently began shoving his way out of the crowd as he shortly said he was going back to the room.  When Skip tried to stop him, wanting to get more insight into his friend's strange behavior, Howie didn't even stop, and Skip's insides turned to cold Jell-O when Howie called back that his reason for going was Russ.

"I don't believe it," shouted Ginger as she came back to the spot.  "I should've known better than to trust Howie Lockwood with anything responsible."

"No," Skip said.  "Something's wrong."  He barely noticed Karen and Juanita approaching.

"I'll say there is," Ginger complained.  "You can't even see where our spot was anymore."

"No," Skip said again.  "Ginger, listen... something's wrong.  I..."  He broke off and looked down Main Street, where Howie had run off.  Juanita and Karen followed his gaze.

"Skip's right," Juanita said in a quiet voice.  "Howie looked terrified when he headed off... he ran right past me on Main Street."

"It's something to do with Russ," Skip said.  He set his jaw.  "I'm going back to the resort.  You girls stay here."

"And pray," Karen said.  She nodded for Skip to go and took hold of the other two girls' hands.  They edged to the brick planter surrounding the statue of Walt and Mickey at the hub directly before the castle, and knelt in an out of the way spot, never loosing their grip as they started praying for their friends.

Skip nodded emphatically, and took off at a swift jog the way Howie had gone.

PART TWO

Magic Kingdom

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

7:53 PM

Sam elbowed his way through Main Street, getting caught in a bottleneck as he neared the turnstiles.  He swore under his breath and elbowed his way to an exit as quickly as he could.  He nudged past a teenage boy and darted in front of him to dash through the turnstile, ignoring the admonition from the Cast Member standing duty.  Once outside he started to turn to the right to go back to the monorail, but Al popping in next to him made him stop.

"Sam, no!  That'll take too long," Al said, waving his arms.  "Go the other way... there's a walkway to the Contemporary over there."

"Where's Russ?" Sam panted as he turned to head that way.

"Sitting in a chair on the balcony," Al said.  "I don't like the look on his face, Sam.  I don't like it at all."

***Next name to be added to Samuel Beckett's list of failures... Russell Lovet-Hurston, Jr.***

"No!" Sam snapped back at the mocking voice. "Not this time!"

The Observer, given how this leap had started and that had happened to this point, was only caught off-guard for an instant. He wasn't sure 'whom' Sam was arguing with, but at the moment, there wasn't a moment to ask or debate him about it. He marched smartly beside his friend, keeping pace with him, but after a moment he barked, "Sam, run!  Walkway is just a description, not a rule for usage!  Run!"

Sam did, dodging strollers and tired children, haggard parents and teenagers complaining about having had to leave the Magic Kingdom "so early."  He didn't even stop to mutter apologies, just took off at a run, pausing only to check traffic before dashing across the street to the parking lot of the Contemporary Resort.  He dashed past the security check-in booth, not even caring if he looked like he was up to no good for running to the building.

Sam was out of breath when he reached the building, and as he crossed in front of the A-frame construct, he looked up, wondering if he could see Russ.  "Is he still sitting in the chair, Al?"

Al pressed a button on the handlink, vanishing from Sam's side to reappear eleven floors up.  "No!" he shouted down to Sam.  "He's standing up and leaning over the balcony, looking out now!"

Sam ran into the building, his tennis shoes squeaking noisily on the floor as he ran past the front desk, Cast Members looking curiously at him.  He reached the elevator bank, panting furiously, and jabbed viciously at the button, bouncing impatiently in front of the elevator until the doors opened and he rushed inside, jamming the button for the eleventh floor  as soon as he entered.

"Sam... the fireworks are starting," Al said, reappearing beside his friend as the elevator moved slowly upward.

"Al... go to Russ.  Watch him till I get there.  Just... don't let him be alone right now."

"Okay," Al said, a gentle expression on his face.  He pressed a button on the handlink and disappeared.

He knew the elevator ride up to the eleventh floor probably only took, at most thirty seconds or so, but for Sam, panting and blowing in an effort to catch his breath, it seemed more like days passed before he felt the car slow then stop. Another eternity passed before the doors slid open and he charged out, grateful that the hallway was empty as he raced down it, turned then dashed for the room four doors down on the left.

Reaching the door, though every nerve in him was quivering, his mind screaming at him to dash inside and across to the balcony and grab Russ, the leaper forced himself to stand still for a few seconds and take a couple of deep breaths before he put his hand on the doorknob and quietly entered the room.

PART THREE

Disney’s Contemporary Resort

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

8:03 PM

Through the partially open sliding glass door, Sam caught a glimpse of the fireworks soaring higher and higher then bursting into breath-taking splashes and blooms of brilliant color against the night sky.  Moving carefully, picking his way so he didn't run into or fall over anything, he crept closer and closer to the open balcony door.  Holding his breath, almost as if afraid even that soft sound might startle Russ, Sam stepped into the opening and froze at the sight of the troubled, hurting form of Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. who had, in the space of a couple of minutes, climbed up on the narrow iron balcony railing, one arm wrapped around an iron support rail that attached to the bottom of the balcony directly above.

Floating in the space directly before Russ, Al caught sight of Sam.  His face was anguished as he said, "Sam, thank God you're here."  The raw quality to his voice gave evidence to the way he'd been shouting.  "I tried talking him out of climbing up there, but I couldn't.  He can't hear me," Al said.  He shook his head and a tear spilled out of his eye.  "Sam... come out here... slowly and easily... but you need to talk to him now... we don't have much time."

Sam's gaze flicked toward his friend, the urgency in his now softer tone, telling him what there was not time to put into words.  Catching the Observer's eyes, he nodded and took a careful step onto the balcony, an exploding firework that burst into a brilliant golden starburst covering the sound of his footsteps as he took two careful steps, each one bringing him closer to Russ. When he was within arm's reach, Sam stopped, his heart aching as another starburst of bright color illuminated the night sky, giving off enough light to illuminate Russ' face and the  tears he saw trickling slowly down his left cheek as he, too, looked out at the display of lights. It was in that moment, too, that something caused Russ to turn his head slightly and he caught sight of Sam in the aura of the friend he had tried so hard to emulate in his walk with God.  Only now, the sight of Howie gazing at him only hurt worse and made him ashamed that his friend had to witness what he had to do.

"Go away... Howie," Russ hiccupped, now looking into those green eyes. "Just… let me… d… do this."

Sam spoke quietly, so as not to startle the young man clinging to the balcony support, barely balanced on the narrow railing. “Russ... what are you doing?”

For Russ, the quiet, non-accusatory tone of Sam’s question was just too much to bear anymore.  From the freshness and excitement and real happiness that had followed his acceptance of Christ as his Lord and Saviour, the previous four months leading up to this moment had caused him to believe that he had failed to follow through in what had seemed in those first moments the answer to all he had yearned and sought to give meaning to his life. It seemed to Russell and Frances Lovet-Hurston’s only child and son that the harder he tried, the further he seemed to be from reaching where Howie and the others were. When Skip wanted to ride the Teacups again, it was like an answer to prayer, providing him with an easy way to lose his friend in the crowds. They were all where they belonged... together and forging ahead, their faith strong and unshakeable.  He, on the other hand, had obviously failed in his attempt to walk the same path of faith as they.  They didn’t need to be burdened with him and his failure, something he was just too weary and empty inside to struggle against anymore.

"Go away... Howie," Russ said again, his voice quivering in spite of his best efforts to sound strong. "Please... I have to do this. It's... it's the only way to get rid of the emptiness."

Another burst of fireworks booming in the sky just at that moment startled Russ, and he instinctively grasped the support to which he was clinging, tighter. He stared at the bright colors that quickly faded then continued to stare at the night sky, unable to bring himself to look at the man he saw as Howie. He didn’t want him to see the failure he really was.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off Russ, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.  *Not again,* he thought, Marilyn Hicks and her overwhelming depression suddenly coming to his mind, *Not another one... not this way...*  At the same time, he heard the deep voice of the taunting whisper, ***Oh yes....you'll fail again...***

Sam didn’t want to think... couldn't help but think it might be right.  *I’m not Howie Lockwood. I’m not a part of this college youth group--I faked my way through their Bible Study last night.  Heck, I don’t even know who Steven Curtis Chapman is.*

But, like it or not, he was here... and for whatever reason, whatever purpose... he had to try to do what Howie and all the others had failed to do the first time around---get through to the troubled young man that was Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr.

Taking a hesitant step closer, Sam stopped suddenly, catching his breath even as his heart pounded like a trip hammer in his chest when a bursting firework and its concordant explosion made Russ jump, tightening his grip as he almost slipped. For several seconds, the leaper’s eyes were fixed on the young man’s hand gripping the iron support rail, silently willing that hand’s grip to remain strong, before he was able to look at Russ’ face again.

"Russ... this isn't the only way.  It won't stop the emptiness... it will stop EVERYTHING.  You don't really want that, do you?"  Sam prayed, really prayed, for the right words to say.

Russ listened without comment to Sam’s voice, what he was saying... then closed his eyes and bowed his head, shaking it slowly.  "Yes," Russ admitted, his voice a thick yet wearily determined whisper now. "I want it to stop.  I want it all to stop." As he uttered those words, for a moment, in his mind Russ saw yet another looping repeat of everything he’d endured since coming to the Lord.  He saw again... heard again... his mother, more than his father, hammering at him every change she got, telling him in no uncertain terms that, “Russell, what you’ve done is nothing more than join with the hypnotized masses following after a 'feel good' notion. You mark my words, Russell, this new... ’thing’ isn’t going to last any more than every other amusement you’ve tried.” Fresh bitter tears began to burn behind his eyelids then seeped free to trickle down his already wet cheeks as he heard again the jeering tone of his mother’s voice mocking him or worse, condescending to him the many times he had tried to share all that he had found in Jesus.  And then there was his father.  Russell Lovet-Hurston, Sr. hadn’t jeered, choosing rather to simply ignore him.

Silent sobs shook Russ’ shoulders for a minute, perhaps longer, before he drew in a deep, shaking breath and said, "You don't know what it's like to have your family turn against you, Howie," feeling more tears running down his face. "Your folks... your sister... they're there for you whenever you need them."  Lifting his head, Russ turned it, swiping his cheek against his shoulder and sniffled then resumed staring out at the night sky.  "You're not empty inside, Howie. I am. And I'm tired of pretending that my faith is stronger than... all of it." Sighing deeply, wearily, from somewhere Russ summoned the courage to turn his head to look down at the man he saw as Howie Lockwood. "I'm sorry, Howie. I’m sorry I was such a failure."

From his vantage point, ostensibly floating in air in front of the railing, face to face as it were, with Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr., as he watched the troubled young man, Al knew that despite the way he was telling Sam that he wanted to die, he didn't believe him.  There was despair there, yes; that he recognized. He had been there far too many times himself.  But he also recognized something else in Russ.  If Russ really, truly wanted to die, he'd have jumped the second Sam had stepped onto the balcony.  Deep down, somewhere deep down inside of him, there was a grain… Al didn't know how big, but deep down there was something... if Sam could just figure out how to reach it.

Russ was speaking again, and with his first words about having to fight his family, Al recognized, knew without a doubt that was the angle Sam needed to take.  For whatever reason, Russ had kept his troubles hidden from his friend (*Probably for the same reasons I hide mine from Sam,* Al acknowledged to himself in the next split second).  But now, in this moment of desperation, they were coming forward.

"Sam," Al said quietly as Russ paused to wipe his tear-wet cheek on the shoulder of his shirt, "try to get him to talk about his family."

He remained silent as Sam nodded imperceptibly, and opened his mouth to speak, but Russ was opening up again, confessing an emptiness inside and insisting that he had been pretending to have a strong faith.  As he listened with Sam as Russ apologized to Howie for being a failure, Al recalled the words he had said to Beth earlier, *If Sam fails--or even thinks he's failed...*  Now, witnessing and listening to Russ, the Observer knew better than anyone else that his best friend had suffered so much already... felt so many failures.  Could this possibly be a point of connection for them?

There were so many possibilities for Sam to reach Russ.  But still Al felt that following the avenue about his family would be the way to go.  Again, he urged Sam, "Ask him about his family."

Sam’s eyes had never strayed as he watched Russ as he insisted he did want to die, an icy chill running down his spine. He hadn’t expected that answer... then again, he also hadn’t expected it to be that easy, either.  As Russ talked, Sam heard Al urging him to ask Russ about his family. He opened his mouth to do just that, but Russ continued to talk, confessing that he was empty while he… Sam… or rather Howie, wasn't.  He listened to Russ saying that he was tired of pretending he had a strong faith.  *Oh, Lord, isn't that what I've been doing for the past couple of days?*   Sam gulped, again opening his mouth to speak, but Russ wasn't finished yet.  It was then that the troubled young man looked down at the leaper and apologized for being a failure.  The word froze Sam to his core, and it was only Al's voice again urging him to pry, to get Russ to talk about his family, that broke that momentary freezing, rousing the leaper back to the moment.

"Why, Russ?" he asked.  "Why would you say your family's turned against you?  I don't understand."

For a minute, maybe a little longer Russ gazed at the best friend he’d ever had, searching Howie's features, his eyes. He started to look away but changed his mind. Another firework going off painted the sky with huge splashes of red... green... gold... blue and it was then he glanced back to Sam.

"When was the last time, when you talked to your mother, that she said..." Russ hesitated, hearing his mother’s voice as clearly as if she were standing on the balcony behind him. "That she said, *If you're going to start with that drivel again, then go and talk to a fence post. At least 'it' will be interested. I'm not. Come back when you've got something worthwhile to talk about.*"  As the last words from one of the last times his mother had told him what she thought of his faith passed his lips, Russ met Sam’s gaze again. Softly he shook his head at him. "Howie, I've never heard you say anything like... that about your family."

Sam had to admit that Russ was right. He couldn’t recall—as much a fact due to the Swiss-cheesing effect as it was what he felt deep down inside --any time when his mother hadn’t been, most of the time, one hundred percent behind him in whatever he had wanted to do.  And even if his ventures or attempts didn't turn out or last long, or his mother had disagreed with him, the leaper didn’t need to have crystal clear memories to tell him what he knew.  Namely, that his mother… nor his father or his sister or brother… had never once belittled him in the way that the pain in Russ' voice and eyes were telling him that the young man had endured from the people closest to him, his parents.

"Russ," Sam began then hesitated, licked his lips and started again. "Everyone... every family is different. We all fail..."

***Some more than others, right, Sam?***

The sting caused by the deep taunting whisper caused Sam to hunch his shoulders vaguely against it trying to ignore it.  He couldn’t, didn’t have the time to indulge in his own...

***Failures...***

Al saw the way Sam's shoulders dropped as he pointed out to Russ that everyone fails.  On at least two occasions on this Leap, he had noticed Sam struggling with an internal Voice... or voices, he realized, recalling how vociferously his friend had responded to one of them.  The Observer recognized the minute but telling change in Sam’s posture and as he thought back on his friend’s earlier reactions, Al came to the conclusion that a taunting voice had to be the other that Sam was hearing.  And, given what Sam had recently been through, Al could just imagine what that taunting voice was saying to him.

"Sam.... focus on Russ," Al said in as gentle but as firm a voice as he could manage.  "Don't think about the past, kiddo... think about reaching Russ."

Sam didn't acknowledge the Observer's urging even though he agreed with him.  "What about your Dad?" he began.

Russ' lips pressed into a thin line for a moment before saying, "I told you, he ignores me.  He doesn't care what I do, just so long as it doesn't embarrass us."

"Us?" Sam questioned, using the question itself to edge a step closer toward Russ' precarious perch on the narrow iron balcony rail.

"Us!" Russ responded, a trace of bitterness and mirthless humor in his tone. "You can do just about anything, and they don't blink. But you don't subject the name of Lovet-Hurston to embarrassment or ridicule."  The last word on its own strength summoned back the last time he had tried to talk to his father about how and why he had turned his life around. "The family can deal with just about anything but that."   He spared a look down at his friend then turned his face back toward the open night sky then leaned his head against the upright support rail to which he clung, closed his eyes and let out a quivering sigh.

"And your father thinks your faith is embarrassing?" Sam gently asked.

Russ let out a hollow laugh.  "It's mainstream at least, but what little attention he *did* give me about it..."  He shook his head, blinking furiously.  His tears gave a prismatic effect to the fireworks still going off in perfect counterpoint to the soundtrack of Disney music.  "What's the point, anyway?"  He bowed his head forward, studying the ground below.

The handlink squawked, and Al lifted it, his eyebrows raising at what he read.  Ziggy, who had been monitoring everything as usual, had taken it upon herself to search through the recording and transcripts of Al's late-night conversation with Howie, and what she now pulled forth was a verse.  Speaking only on the Imaging Chamber intercom, so as not to disturb Sam, Ziggy said, "Admiral... perhaps this could be of assistance."

Al just nodded, knowing Ziggy would see it, and he quietly said, "Sam... repeat this verse to Russ."  He read it off slowly.

Sam paused, then said, "Russ... do you remember what Christ said?  If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple." He paused, the focal meaning becoming clear to him.  "It doesn't matter if they don't support you, if they ridicule you.  Christ is what matters."

Russ, however, had picked up on another aspect of the verse.  "Maybe," he said.  He shrugged, still looking at the ground eleven stories below.  "At least I've got one part of it right... I hate my life."

Al swore at Ziggy, and at himself, for not having considered how that portion of the verse might have affected the suicidal boy.  "Sam... don't let him stop talking.  Make him open up."

While listening to the verse Al had told him to repeat to Russ, as with most everything Sam heard, it was instantly memorized. For a moment, it seemed to have touched the young man only for that hope to fade at Russ' bitter self-loathing comment. He heard Al's urging and silently agreed with the curse the hologram had muttered. Still, in spite of that, he got an impression that it was that last comment that he should focus on.

*I hope you know what you're doing,* he thought to Whomever or Whatever had put him and Russ in this fragile and tenuous situation.

"I don't think that the word 'hate' is meant literally," he ventured. "It's more like..." Sam searched his thoughts, his mind racing and sorting at an unbelievable speed until it came upon something. "It's more like you look at your life... everything about it, and compare it to what following Christ offers."

"What are you talking about, Howie?" Russ whispered wearily.

"Look at it this way," Sam seized the small opening Russ' question offered him.  "Look at everything that your life is... has been up to before you found Christ." Seeing the other man nod his head, Sam continued to follow -blindly it seemed to the logical part of his mind- where he was being led.  "Have you had a good life?"

Russ slowly turned his head to look down at the man he perceived as his friend. "Yeah, I suppose so," he said slowly. "But what's that..."

"Your parents loved you... provided for you.  You had family and lots of friends. You went to good schools..."

"The best money could pay for," Russ said.

Sam nodded. "And it was good, wasn't it?"

"Howie...."

"Just answer the question, Russ," Sam said with soft yet insistent firmness.  When Russ agreed with his last question, Sam continued.  "And then you found Christ."

"Howie," Russ interrupted again, insistently. "What's your point?"

"Just this," Sam said, now standing beside the railing, close enough, if need be, to make a grab for Russ. "Once you found Him and started to follow him, how did following His way compare to your other life?"

"How much time have you got?" Russ made a weak attempt at humor.

"All the time in the world," Sam said, never taking his eyes off Russ.

"Russ, you compared what was before Christ in your life... all of the good things, the privileges and it didn't match to what He offered." Another nod and seeing how Russ was now watching him more than looking away from him encouraged Sam to continue on the path he could only trust was the way to go.

"So... in order to accept what Christ offered you, you took that step of faith."  Sam stopped for a moment, risking a glance at Al, who nodded his encouragement, having been studying Russ' posture and expression constantly.  "Did you think about what your parents would say?"

"No," Russ said.  "I didn't even stop to think about it or care about it."  He looked into Sam's eyes.  "All I was focused on was praying to ask Jesus into my heart.  To get forgiveness for all the things I'd done wrong in my life."

"You counted following Christ as more important than anything else," prompted Sam.

"Yeah."

"That's what the verse means, Russ," Sam finished quietly.  "To value Christ so highly that nothing else matters."

For a moment, Sam had a hope that he had broken through the resistance.  The fireworks had ended and Russ was still clinging to the railing, still alive.  He turned to Al, but the Observer shook his head.  "He still dies, Sam," Al said softly.  "The odds are a bit lower now, but..."

Sam took a deep breath and studied Russ' expression again.  "Following Jesus, Russ... that's what it's all about."

"And I've been *trying* to," Russ said, suddenly, explosively.  His eyes filled with tears as he looked at Sam.  "You can do it... so can Skip... and the girls.  But me..."  He shook his head as tears overwhelmed him.  "I love Him… Jesus with everything that I am. You know that. And I know that He loves me and is with me all the time.  My life… the changes …" A shaky smile crossed his face and he sniffled. "My life's been so different from what it was before… Him.  A whole turn around, the Bible studies, going to church and really getting something outta the services instead just taking up space in a pew to please a girl or a friend.  Heck, even giving up stuff I used to like to do, hanging out with the wrong crowd… all of it was easy.  But…" 

He paused, drawing in another shaky breath and blowing it out, struggling to try to hang onto some form of composure. But it didn't seem to work and he shook his head softly.  The hurt that went deeper than eyes could see, a gnawing at his soul so painful that it could only be 'seen' as he spoke it, was raw in his words, in the tone of his voice. He didn't try to hide the tears streaks on his face as his gaze slowly swept over the panoramic vista before him then back to Sam. 

"But it just seems like everything… *everything*… is a constant struggle.  I'm always fighting.  Not just the temptations, but me. I'm always fighting with myself."

The rawness of Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr.'s beleaguered soul sent a wave of empathy and understanding coursing through Al. In the tense moment now stretching out and encompassing all of them, he knew how the younger man felt, but the words that came out of Russ' mouth next got a strong reaction... not from the Observer but from Sam.

His body trembled and Russ tightened his grip on the support railing as he half-wept, half whispered, "We're supposed to be strong in the Lord, but... I can't do it alone, Howie."

The last five words hit Sam Beckett squarely in the face, those same words... words that he had whispered into the darkness the night before in defense of himself.

*I can't do it alone,* Sam thought.

**You're not alone, Sam,** responded the Voice.  **No matter where you are, heaven or hell, top of the mountain or the bottom of the sea, I am there before you.**⁸

In the next instant, another familiar voice spoke, "Sam... remind him that he's not alone."

*Al!*  Sam turned to look at his Observer, the worn face bearing deep-set lines due to his intense concern for Russ... and for Sam himself.  A wave of gratitude washed over him.  No, he wasn't alone.  Not really.  And neither was Russ.  Sam closed his eyes for a moment, drawing his thoughts together as he thought about what he'd learned from the foundational teachings of his childhood, all the Sunday School classes his parents had brought him to.  Even if he didn't have Al, even if he was in a place of isolation, Sam knew that he wouldn't be alone. 

"You're not alone, Russ," Sam said aloud, finally.

"But you can't fight for me," snapped Russ, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand.

A thought struck Al in the moment the argument left Russ' lips, and he quickly keyed in the strokes to search for something Howie had shared with him last night.  The verse popped up, and Al quickly read it over several times, not wanting to say anything that could be twisted by Russ' mindset.  Satisfied, he said, "Sam, tell Russ to remember that it's God who is at work in him.  That comes from Philippians... be sure and say that.  Philippians 2:13."

Sam took in a bracing breath before once again citing Scripture to the troubled young man.

His friend reciting Scripture touched something in Russ but it was like the despair in him wasn't going to let him go. It was that despair that drove him to counter, albeit not as sharply as before, "I'm doing everything..."

"No, Russ," Sam interrupted him. "Listen to the verse again," and slowly repeated the verse, enunciating each word clearly. "God is working in you, don't you see? He's helping you to want to obey Him. And it's Him helping you to want to do what He wants."

"But nothing I've done has worked," Russ came back, his tone defensive.  "What else can I do?"

As one, Leaper and hologram answered him with the same two words, "Let go."

So startled by what his friend had just said, Russ suddenly wobbled on the railing, instinct causing him to focus on tightening his grip and regaining his balance before fixing his gaze on Sam. "What did you say?" he asked.

In the moment he saw Russ' body waver slightly, Sam's heart leaped into his throat and he started to lunge forward, his hands already outstretched to grab for Russ if he showed the tiniest sign of jumping.  It still took him a moment to swallow a couple of times to moisten his dry throat enough to respond.  Licking his lips, Sam nodded when Al warned softly, "Choose your words carefully, Sam."

Holding his gaze steady with Russ', Sam repeated, "I said you have to let go and let God take control."

Russ took the response and considered it. "But what if..."

The Observer, whose own heart was firmly lodged in his throat, spoke, harking back to his night-long fellowship with Howie in the Waiting Room, as well as things and lessons he'd learned in his own walk of faith, repeating again, this time for Sam to share with Russ, "He has to trust... and let go and let God control his life."

Sam shifted his eyes to look at Al.

Al nodded sincerely, "You heard me, Sam.  Russ has to quit trying to do it all by himself.  It doesn't matter how many hoops he jumps through, if he doesn't trust God..."

"...it's not going to work," finished Sam.

"What?" exclaimed Russ.

Sam's head whipped back up to look at the young man literally standing on the edge.  "If you don't trust God, it doesn't matter about any 'what ifs'.  They're not going to work."

"I'm trying!" shouted Russ, tears of anger and frustration now running down his cheeks.  "I've been going to the Bible studies, singing the songs, praying.  What more can I do?  What more does He want me to do?"

"That's just it, Russ," said Sam.  "You're so focused on what *you* need to do that you're not leaving room for God to do anything."

"And that means what?" Russ demanded, his thoughts and mind a jumble of questions and anger and fear.

Once more Al pressed the keys of the handlink, entering a phrase for Ziggy to search for. When the verses began scrolling across the handlink's screen, he knew he'd understood the impression on his own heart at that instant.

"Sam," he said softly. "Repeat this to Russ... word for word."  He watched the verses scrolling, reading them clearly. "Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD. The LORD shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace."⁹  Raising his gaze to his friend again, he said simply, "Tell Russ that prayer isn't just about praying to and talking to God. It also means he has to be quiet... inside," he said, softly tapping a finger on his chest. "He has to listen, too." Al paused a moment then added, "Remind him that often God speaks in a still, small voice, and the only way to hear it is to be quiet and listen."

Carefully, slowly, Sam repeated what Al had told him.  He spoke the verse that had touched his own troubled spirit as his friend had read it aloud.  As soon as he finished the verse, he prepared to pass along the expounding Al had added, but Russ didn't give him a chance.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Sam said, firmly, "that you need to take a moment to be still.  If you're moving around, how can you focus on anything, much less what God has to show you?  You're forgetting that God speaks in a still, small voice."

Russ paused.  "He wasn't in the wind... He wasn't in the earthquake... He was in the quiet."¹⁰

"Yes.  But in order to hear it, you have to be quiet and listen for it."

"I have been."

Sam shook his head.  "You haven't held your peace with me.  You've got a counter argument for everything I've said."

Russ opened his mouth and closed it again.  After a moment, he said, defensively, "You make it sound like I don't pray to God... I have been!  Have *you* been listening to me?"

"You pray *to* God," Sam said, calmly.  "You talk *to* God.  Do you ever listen to what He might have to say to you in return?"

Again Russ opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out as Sam's question looped through his mind again... and then again.  For a moment there was quiet inside but it lasted only a moment as the emptiness reclaimed him. A slow, resigned sigh escaped his lips as he said softly, "You have all the answers, Howie. I've tried so hard to follow your example... I just want to get to where you are."

"Where do you think I am?" Sam asked.

A sob broke into Russ' voice as he said, “Where I don't have to struggle every day… with every decision." He paused, sniffling then bowed his head in order to wipe his nose against his shirt before again leaning his head against the support rail.  A sigh that was so much more than weary escaped his lips.  "I just want get to where you and everyone else is, Howie," he whispered tiredly.  "Where it's easy."  As the last words slipped from his lips, his gaze was drawn to the vast openness before him, his eyes being drawn to the dark emptiness of space just a step beyond the railing beneath his feet.

"What makes you think I don't struggle?" pressed Sam.  "What makes you think it's easy for me?"

Russ shrugged, "You're so much closer to Christ than I am."

Something Al had said to him on this very balcony the previous night came back to Sam, and he very carefully said, "I've been a Christian longer than you have, Russ.  You're a baby yet."

"I shouldn't be!  I've done all the same things you have!"  Russ looked directly into Sam's eyes.  "How can I be doing the same things as you and not be getting anywhere?"

"Because he's not setting his eyes in the right place," interjected Al.  "Sam... he's looking at Howie as an example, and there's nothing wrong with that... but he's not looking inside himself to see what God wants for *him*."

Sam thought about what Russ and Al had both said.  "Russ, who are you looking to for guidance?"

"I look to you and God..."

"Wrong," Sam said, keeping his tone gentle. "When you need guidance, go to God."

"But you were there with me when I found Him," Russ reminded his friend.

"He's right, Sam," Al affirmed. "Howie was the one who counseled with Russ the night he accepted Christ."

Sam nodded vaguely. "I led you to *Him*," Sam responded. "Russ, like I told you, I've been a Christian longer than you, but I'm not perfect, I don't have all the answers.”  As the words crossed his lips he felt a gentle nudging within and closed his eyes as he heard the Voice say again, **Let go.**  In that moment, more gently and smoothly than any other time he’d ever experienced a bleed-through, words came to him that he felt certain were from the young man in the Waiting Room.  Opening his eyes, he looked up at Russ again, and said, “Who do you think I go to when I run into situations or problems?" He paused to allow Russ to think about that then continued a moment or so later, the words not his own touching something inside himself as well. "God's the one with the answers you need to every question you'll ever have."

"What if He doesn't answer my question?"

The question brought an unexpected soft smile of remembrance to Al's face. "It's called waiting," he said to Sam. "I can't count how many times I've asked God something and then had to wait... forever, it seemed, for the answer." As Sam started to relay Al's comment to Russ, he paused when the hologram spoke up again. "When those times come, all you can do is just keep running the race.  He'll answer when you need that answer."

Sam repeated Al's words to Russ, when suddenly a memory from one of his many Leaps came forward.  It seemed so out of place on the surface, a line from a television show... the title eluded Sam, but he recalled the basic idea.  During the Leap he'd been struck at its similarity to his own missions.  The character, an angel, had explained that God always answers prayers, "Sometimes the answer is yes.  Sometimes it's no.  And sometimes, the answer is wait."  Despite feeling a bit strange about citing a line from a script with as much confidence as he'd been quoting the Scriptures Al had fed him, Sam amended his comments with that.

Russ considered what Sam told him.  "How do you tell which it is?" he asked.

"You listen."

Silence fell for a moment as Russ grew thoughtful.  Sam waited, sensing that the other needed this time.  It was Russ who broke the silence.

"Why does it have to be so hard, Howie?"

Sam didn't know what to say.  He flicked his eyes toward Al, who was keying the handlink, searching, hoping to find something from his conversation with the real Howie Lockwood that could be of help.

During that moment, a loud cheer erupted from the Magic Kingdom and as soon as it subsided, a series of chords being strummed on a guitar drifted into the air.  In the next moment, a smooth male voice began singing,

"To all the travelers

Pilgrims longing for a home

From one who walks with you

On this journey called life's road

It is a long and winding road."

"The concert's starting," Al said.  The handlink beeped, and he looked down at it.  "Sam... Ziggy's identified the song, and she says there's a seventy-two percent chance that if you can focus Russ' attention to it, you'll succeed in keeping him alive."

Sam nodded, "Do you hear that, Russ?" he asked.

Russ nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, but the voice was singing again,

"From one who's seen the view

And dreamt of staying on the mountains high

And one who's cried like you

Wanting so much just to lay down and die

I offer this, we must remember this:

We are not home yet

We are not home yet

Keep on looking ahead

Let your heart not forget

We are not home yet

Not home yet."

Home.  The word pierced Sam through and through, but unlike all the countless times during the years of leaping when he had uttered that word, this time the despair that nearly always accompanied that word wasn't as strong.  He dared to look away from Russ who, like him, was focused on the music. Sam's eyes strayed out until his gaze found the Castle, its lights radiating into the darkness. He wasn’t familiar with the singer or the tune, but with every word of the song that issued into the air, Sam Beckett was feeling something... like a reassurance. Something that with one clean sweep silenced the little voice that had started to mock him again.

"We're not home yet," murmured Russ, closing his eyes and focusing on the song.  Sam watched the young man intently.  He hoped--he prayed--that the song was having the same reassuring effect on Russ, that the power of the words would sink in, seep into his spirit.

The tempo of the music changed as the singer moved into the bridge, and Sam found an answer to his prayer as the lyrics made their way into his ears.  He just hoped that the message would be comprehended by Russ as well.

"I know there'll be a moment

I know there'll be a place

Where we will see our Saviour

And fall in His embrace

So let us not grow weary

Or too content to stay

'Cause we are not home yet

We are not home yet

Not home yet

So let us journey on…"^e

As the singer went back to the chorus, Sam watched Russ.  The young man's eyes slowly slid open, a sheen of tears covering them as he turned to look at Sam.

Al, from the moment the music had floated across the expanse between Cinderella Castle and the Contemporary Resort, had not taken his eyes from the two men on the balcony. He had watched as the song's words reached inside both men standing on the balcony, and he prayed for both to find in those words the encouragement that he, himself, had found.  The reassurance that no matter what happened, no matter how long the journey was, that they were not traveling alone as each of them continued toward home.

"It never is going to be easy, is it?" Russ asked.

An apprehensive knot clenched in Sam's stomach, but he said, "No, not while we're still running the race."

Russ nodded thoughtfully, as he now quoted a Scripture he'd memorized for one of the Bible studies he'd attended.  Only now, though, did he truly understand what it meant.  "Not that I have already obtained it, or have already become perfect, but I press on in order that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus."¹¹

Al was busy at work on the handlink, calling up the rest of the passage--one of the ones Howie had so eagerly shared with him the night before.  He recited it for Sam, who nodded and repeated it in the pause Russ left.

"Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what is behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."¹²

Russ sighed and leaned his head against the support.  "Forgetting what is behind."

"Forgetting what your parents have done to you throughout your life."

"And what they're doing to me now."

Sam hesitated, then reached a hand up to Russ.  "You're not alone, Russ.  You've got God... and you've got me."

"And you've got me," said Skip, who'd stepped outside and now stood next to Sam, reaching his own hand up to Russ as well.

Russ looked down at his friends' earnest, sincere... loving expressions and their outstretched hands then allowed his gaze to slide out to the night sky again. "Not home yet," he whispered to the air as the notes of the next song began to reach his ears. But it was the echoes of that first song that he was hearing as he looked again to Sam and Skip. "I'm in this for the long haul," he told them, his words determined even if his voice was a little shaky. "I'm in this race for good," he told them as he reached his free hand out.

Though Skip was a step closer, it was Sam's hand that caught Russ' hand, grasping it firmly as he moved closer. Skip moved over to stand behind Russ, reaching up to place his hands on his friend's waist firmly and help him down to the safety of the balcony floor.

PART FOUR

Disney’s Contemporary Resort

Walt Disney World

Friday, September 12, 1997

8:40 PM

The instant his feet touched the balcony floor, Russ turned to Sam. Once more his eyes were brimming with tears. He searched his friend's face even as he searched his mind for words to express what he was feeling. But his throat was too tight and so he settled for grabbing Sam and hugging him fiercely.

"You did it, Sam," Al said, wiping a relieved tear from his own eye and lifting the handlink.  "Russ lives.  He gets counseling.  And get this, he goes on to medical school.  You did it."

Sam was still hugging the young man, and he looked at Al.  "Not me," he mouthed to his friend.  Al nodded, understanding, as Skip reached to grip both his friends' shoulders.

Russ finally pulled away and sank into one of the chairs on the patio, rubbing his face.  Skip leaned against the railing and watched him.  Giving Russ a moment, Sam drew near to Skip.

"Howie, how did you know?" the football player asked his roommate.

"How did you know to come after me?" Sam asked in return.

It didn't take long for Skip to answer.  "I just... knew.  It was like God was telling me to follow you."

Sam gestured as if to say 'Well, there you go.'

Al had to smile at Sam's non-verbal response, though he did say lightly, "That and a little help from an angel." When Sam's gaze flicked over at him, the hologram grinned, "Well... maybe an angel in training?"  His laughter filled the air in response to the way Sam rolled his eyes before returning again to Russ who was now watching him and Skip. 

Skip, seeing the look in Russ' eyes, piped up, "You know what we need to do right now?"

"Get some sleep?" Sam suggested, suddenly feeling as if every iota of strength and energy had been drained from his body.

"No way!" Skip said, his characteristic wide grin appearing. "We've got some rejoicing and praising God to do."  His gaze went to Russ, still sitting quietly.  "All three of us." A moment passed then he added, going to Russ and offering his hand to his friend. "And I just happen to know about this major blowout of music and praising going on right now. What's say we crash that party and join in?"

"That's one of the best ideas you've ever come up with," smiled Russ, grabbing Skip's hand and getting to his feet.  He turned to look back at Sam.  "Coming, Howie?"

"Right behind you," said Sam, feigning a look back at the view of the Magic Kingdom as he cast an inquiring look at Al.

"Still with you, Sam," said Al, gesturing for him to go with the others.  "I'll meet you downstairs."  He pressed a button on the handlink and vanished from Sam's sight.

Sam followed Skip and Russ inside, the driving guitar sounds muffled as he closed the sliding glass door.  They made their way quickly to the lobby and headed outside for the quicker walk back to the Magic Kingdom.

As they walked beside the building Russ looked up and shivered momentarily.

Sam, who had paused when Russ did, followed the young man's line of view then looked at him again. Seeing the shiver that ran over Russ, he said, "Hey, Russ?" When Russ looked at him, he smiled and said, "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

Russ, hearing Howie call his name in a question, almost hesitated to meet his friend's eyes for wondering of what he might see there. But what he saw in Sam's green eyes dispelled the last niggling tendril of uncertainty and he nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "You said it, Howie. It's a great night to be alive."

"Isn't it, though?" said Skip, slapping a hand on each of his friends' shoulders.  "And how better to celebrate than heading into the Nights of Joy?  Race ya!"  He took off at a playful jog.  With a glance at each other, Sam and Russ followed suit.

"We should rename this the runway to the Magic Kingdom," quipped Al as he floated along, keeping pace with the boys as they ran.  "This is only your second time on it, and you're running again."  He grinned at the face Sam made at him.  "Okay... I admit, when you're headed *towards* the Magic Kingdom, it's hard not to.  Just be glad you're not pushing a stroller and trying to keep track of three other rug rats."

Since they'd already been admitted earlier, all the three had to do was show their wristbands at the turnstiles and the Cast Members let them in.  As they headed toward Main Street, Skip started humming along with the song filling the air then singing along.

"We'll travel over, over mountains so high

We'll go through valleys below

Still through it all we'll find that

This is the greatest journey that the human heart will ever know..."^f

Skip stopped in his tracks and stopped singing.  "It's ‘The Great Adventure’!!!  He's singing it!!!"

Skip's words caused Russ to stop and turn to his friend. "Aw, Skip, I'm sorry..." he began only to find a finger at the end of his nose so fast it made his eyes cross when he looked at it.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, man," Skip told him with mock sternness though his eyes were soft.

"But it's all you've talked about since we decided to come for the Nights of Joy... standing in the front row watching Steven Curtis Chapman singing ‘The Great Adventure’."

"Hey," Skip said, his tone dropping a bit as he stepped closer to his friend and clapped a hand on each of Russ' shoulders and leaned toward him. "I'm right where I want to be..."

"All the way in the back of the crowd?" Russ said softly.

Skip just looked into his friend's eyes deeply for a moment. When he did speak, the goofing tone was gone and in its place was heartfelt truth. "Russ," he said gently. "I'd rather be in the back row with my friend and knowing that he's okay... and getting better... than if I had the entire front row all to myself."  He paused as the last chords of the song faded and the crowd cheered and clapped.  "You didn't keep me from enjoying anything, buddy boy.  What you gave me... gave us all, is a wonderful opportunity to get closer and praise God. So...no more of this...stuff that’s dribbling out of your mouth. Got it?"  As he watched the smile reappear on Russ' face, Skip stepped back and slipped back into 'Skip-mode'.  "For a minute there I thought I was gonna have to borrow some kid's bib, the way you were drooling."

Russ shoved Skip playfully.  "Very funny, Lagerman.  Very funny."

"Where are the girls?" Sam asked, as they drew near to the hub which was a veritable sea of humanity.

Al pressed a button the handlink and popped from his spot standing near the guys to the other side of the planter encompassing the "Partners" statue.  He waved to get Sam's attention and pointed downward.

"They're right here, Sam... on their knees praying... and a couple of others have joined them."

Sam nodded, and turned to Russ and Skip.  "Where did you leave them, Skip?  By the statue?"

"Yeah, on the other side of it," he affirmed.  "I hope they're still there..."

They walked over, Skip bouncing along to the song Steven Curtis Chapman had introduced as "Lord of the Dance," but paying more attention to searching the crowd than watching his favorite contemporary Christian artist.

"Right here, Sam!" called Al as they drew near.  Sam pointed and tugged on Skip's shirtsleeve, calling his attention to the three girls, kneeling before the brick wall, their hands still clasped together.  An older man and two other college girls stood behind them, their hands gripping the shoulders of the kneeling threesome as they bowed their heads in prayer as well.

When Russ' gaze followed the direction Sam was pointing, it was all he could do not to start crying again as he gazed at three of his best friends on their knees, and three total strangers behind them, praying... for him.  It took him a moment before he could swallow down the lump that had suddenly filled his throat. When he could speak again, he didn't. Instead, he walked toward them, stopping a couple of feet behind them, swallowed yet again and took a deep soft breath and let it out before he said the first thing that came to his mind.  "Is this a private prayer session or can anybody join in?"

If Sam hadn't seen and heard, it, he wouldn't have believed that the three girls on their knees, as one, let out screams to easily rival the music as they leapt to their feet and swarmed around Russ, enveloping him in hugs and whispers and praises to God woven all through their joy at seeing their friend was okay.

"Russ!  We were so worried about you!" exclaimed Karen.  Juanita nodded her agreement as she wiped furiously at her wet cheeks, previously stained by worried tears, now covered by tears of joy and relief.

Only Ginger looked at him seriously.  "You, Mr. Lovet-Hurston, Jr., are on my list."

"Your... list?" Russ asked.

A twinkle entered into her eye as she said, "Oh, yes.  And the St. Germain list is not a place you want to be.  Just give me a chance to decide on a punishment..." She grinned, and Russ laughed.

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the Goofy hat, angling it meaningfully over Russ' head.  Russ looked at the hat and back to Sam.

"Howie... I thought you promised Goofy you'd never shove it in your pocket again?"

Sam stopped.

"He's got ya there, Sam!" crowed Al.

Sam slid a look at Al's cheeky grin then met the gazes of Howie's friends now fixed on him. A slow grin spread across his face as he met Russ' gaze.  The grin got wider when they all, including Al, roared when he said in a stage whisper, "If you don't tell him, I won't either!"

A couple of minutes passed as the girls fussed over Russ a bit more - Ginger warning him when he started to take the hat off, "You take that hat off and I promise, I'll come up with a worse punishment!"  It was the sound of the man on the stage, talking about the next song to be sung, that gained the collective attention of the group.  Looking around at his friends, Russ said, "Shall we brave the masses and try to get to the front?"

Ginger fixed him with a look, saying, "Do I look like a salmon?" Turning her head at the sound of a familiar snicker, she warned Skip, "Don't *even* go there, Lagerman!"

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this," said Skip, "but let's just stay here."

They all goggled at him, but it didn't last long as Steven Curtis Chapman launched into a catchy guitar rhythm, leading into his first verse.

"Well, I was eight years old when I decided to follow Jesus,

I started down that road.

Somebody told me that the path that leads to Heaven

It will not be the easy way

Well, I found that to be true,"

Sam and Russ looked at each other, the song new to both of them, and the relevancy of its lyrics striking them at the heart.  Even Al was riveted, just having the presence of mind to request Ziggy to pipe the feed of the concert into the Waiting Room for the benefit of Howie. 

"Oh but I also found, I found out there's

No better place on earth than the road that leads to Heaven

No other place I'd rather be, yea-ah

No better place on earth than the road that leads to Heaven

No better place to be"^g

It was a moment Sam knew he'd always remember. He didn't know how that was possible with his always Swiss-cheesed memory, but the how didn't matter. What mattered was that he knew it to be true. And when, under cover of the music Russ told him, "Thanks for being there for me, Howie," Sam smiled and said, "For a friend... any time, any place." Watching Russ bob his head at the comment, he added, "Remember, Russ, any time, any place, you're never alone."

The moment might have stretched out longer, but it was the sound of Steven Curtis Chapman's voice calling out to the crowd, "C'mon, everyone! Clap and sing along with us!" that brought college student and leaper back to the moment, both giving their full attention to the entertainer on stage.  Sam was flooded inside with a warm feeling of satisfaction when Russ whooped loudly as he raised his hands over his head and began clapping in time with the crowd, his baritone voice joining the song.

Sam watched Russ and the others for a moment before allowing himself to be drawn into the enthusiasm, and began clapping along.  He was about to start singing as well when a movement near by caught the corner of his eye. Turning his head he saw Al, bobbing along with the music. Sam spared a glance at the group then subtly moved over to Al.

"So Russ is going to be okay?" he asked, confident that no one was going to notice him talking to thin air.

Al turned his attention from the singer whose face reflected the joy of the lyrics he sang to look at Sam's hopeful face.

"Oh yeah," he nodded, lifting the handlink.  "In fact... his path just changed a bit.  Now he goes into medical missions.  Right now he's in Africa, doing his fourth year of residency and serving with a mission team in Zaire."

Sam smiled and looked back at the young man, still clapping and singing about the road to Heaven.  "So he presses on for the prize," he said.

"So do you, Sam," answered Al.

"And what prize is that?" Sam asked softly. It was a familiar answer the Observer gave him but this time and, he hoped as his own path continued to wind, there wasn't any bitterness when he heard, his friend say, "Home."  As soon as the word passed Al's lips, Sam felt the all too familiar tingling beginning deep inside him and spreading out through his body.

"That's the one I want more than anything," Sam affirmed softly, looking steadily into Al's dark eyes. "And one of these days, I'm going to get there," he said and then, in a wink of bright blue light that only Al could see, he was gone.

In the few seconds before the image of the crowd and the little group nearby faded, Al said softly as he looked up at the stars, "I know you will, Sam. You're going to get there."

EPILOGUE

After finally waking up and finding himself still in the Waiting Room, and other than his basic needs, including meals, being provided, Howie Lockwood remained alone.  He entertained himself by exercising a bit and, thinking back to how the stand-up line had fallen flat with Al, even ran through the routine again.  He also turned again to the well-used black Bible with the name ‘Calavicci’ embossed on the front cover, now resting on the mirror-topped table.  Seated at the table, Howie had perused it, immersing himself in the Scriptures that were his greatest source of comfort, guidance and help. The hours slipped by, one after the other for Howie Lockwood as he read, pausing when he felt led to do so, and bowing his head and praying for whomever or whatever was impressed upon him. 

Howie, after a modest meal – based only on his own internal clock, he suspected it was around supper time - of a club sandwich, corn chips and cola, had resumed reading the Bible, as well as reading some of the notes and comments written in the margins in two distinct handwritings; one, he knew, was Al’s and the other, he was certain belonged to Al’s wife.

Howie wasn’t sure exactly when or why he had begun to have a strong impression to pray.  Without uttering a word, he lifted his head and looked around the large blue room.  He looked at the bed and the walls and even the door before his gaze returned to the table at which he sat.  It was when he leaned a bit closer to it and looked down into the reflection in the mirrored top and into that man’s… Sam’s... green eyes that brought the need, the urge to pray flooding through him.  And even as Howie had whispered, “Yes, Lord,” the face of Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. came before his mind’s eye, too.  Slipping from the chair to the floor beside the table, Howie had bowed his head and folded his hands and had begun to pray in earnest.

“Lord, I come to You just now, seeking Your holy face and lifting up Sam and Russ to you.  Lord, be with Sam.  Your ways and reasons are beyond my understanding, Lord.  You have put Sam there with Russ to help him in some way that I couldn’t. Father, I lift Sam up to you and ask that you would guide Sam, give him the words that will reach Russ.” For an instant Howie paused and listened then continued to pray silently.  It was only when the music and words of a familiar song, interlaced with countless voices in the background were piped into the large room that Howie Lockwood lifted his head, a sigh of relief issuing from his lips even as a broad smile crossed his face.  He didn’t know what had happened but all that mattered was that the lyrics:

"Oh but I also found, I found out there's

No better place on earth than the road that leads to Heaven

No other place I'd rather be, yea-ah

No better place on earth than the road that leads to Heaven

No better place to be",

were telling him that it was time to rejoice and praise.  “Yes, Lord!” Howie cried out enthusiastically as he got to his feet, raising his hands in the air then began clapping in time and moving to the rhythm of the infectiously joyful music.  “Thank you, Jesus for being with Sam and Russ... and Al! Bless everyone there and may the joy and peace that only you can give be poured out on all gathered to worship and praise you, Lord, at the Nights of Joy.”

Yet as the song continued, Howie became obedient to another quiet whisper within and he returned to the Bible lying open on the table, scanning the passage he had been reading a short time ago.  As he read it again, the young college man with a heart, soul, mind and spirit for his Lord, sat down again.  Turning to the pen and pad of paper he had requested and been given earlier, Howie thought for a moment before he quickly wrote a few lines then signed his name. Reading over what he’d just written, he smiled, offered a special silent prayer for his new friend then folded the sheet of paper in half and laid it on the open Bible, closing it so only a corner of the paper was revealed.  That done, Howie lifted his head, grinning broadly and jumped up and resumed his own joining with the music and people rejoicing somewhere he wasn’t, singing the words that lifted him and his spirit every time he heard them.  Howie was still singing and rejoicing when, in the blink of an eye and a wink of bright blue light, he was gone from the Waiting Room.

Project Quantum Leap

Wednesday, October 4, 2006

0200 hours

After Sam leaped, Al had intended on going back to his quarters to get the sleep his body had finally started crying out for.  His footsteps, however, brought him to the Waiting Room, where he'd spent so much time with Howie Lockwood.  When Al looked up and realized where he was, he shook his head.

*Sam Leaped.  Howie's gone… so why am I standing here?*

Al sighed as he entered the Waiting Room, finding it empty, just as he'd known it would be.  Yet part of him had held out an irrational hope that perhaps by some fluke, the young man would still be there; of course, he wasn’t.

Evidence of his presence remained, though.  A melamine plate bearing the crumbs of a devoured meal rested alongside an abandoned soda can, both having been pushed away from what truly fed Howie Lockwood-the Bible.

Al walked to the table and just looked at his family Bible for a moment.  It had been read more in the past two days than it had in the past six months.  Maybe he and Beth would have to read it more often, Al thought, as he reached out and lifted the Bible.  He was just about to turn and go, when he noticed something sticking out of the pages of the Bible.  Al took hold of the white corner and tugged the folded slip of paper free.

He'd expected to see some notes from a homily at one of the Masses he and Beth had actually managed to attend, or an insert from the church bulletin.  The strange handwriting confused him for a moment until he glanced down and saw the signature, "Howie".  Al sank down into the chair beside the table and absorbed the short note.

Dear Al,

I know that I ended up here because God needed Sam to help Russ in some way that I couldn't.  But I also can't help feeling that maybe I was also meant to have met you.

You told me I probably won't remember much of this place or anyone I met when I go back… but I hope you're wrong.  Because I don't want to forget you, Al.  I don't know what God has in store for the rest of my life, but if our paths ever cross again this side of Heaven, I want to be able to recognize you.

I pray that God continues to give you and Sam the strength you need to continue in this good work, for however long He has deemed it necessary.  With whatever remnants of memory He allows me to have, when I think of you, I'll pray for you.

                                                Howie

Philippians 1:3-6

Several minutes of silence passed as Al gazed down at the note, reading it again, slowly, Howie Lockwood's face appearing in his mind.  Slowly he folded the note and started to put it in his breast pocket so he would remember to put it in a safe place once he got back to his quarters. That, however, didn't happen. Instead, as he reached to pick up the Bible, the text that Howie had jotted at the foot of the note flashed through his mind.  Laying the note on the table, Al opened the Bible and found the passage and read it aloud. As each word crossed his lips, the Observer felt encouraged and privileged to have had the opportunity to meet Howie Lockwood, class clown, joker and a young man he felt in his bones had a special road before him.  So strong an impression had the 'toddler in his faith' made on Al, that he could almost still feel Howie's presence.  He even gave into the vague inkling that if he turned quickly enough he might see Howie pop up from the other side of the bed with his familiar 'gotcha' grin in place. Of course, there was only the bed, the table and him in the large blue Waiting Room, but just the action of turning to look made Al smile as he turned back to the table and reached to close the Bible. Carefully placing the note in the Bible where it lay open then closing it, Al knew what a kick Howie would have gotten out of the moment.

Rising to his feet, Al scanned the room once more then picked up the Bible and walked slowly to the door.  Pausing a few feet before reaching it, he turned around and looked one last time, willing himself to soak in and retain forever the few hours during which Howie Lockwood had not only helped his buddy Russ, but Sam and himself, too.

"Thanks," Al said quietly then bowed his head and offered a brief prayer for Howie, then continued out of the Waiting Room and headed for his office.  He had a report to write on this leap. This time, unlike the several he'd had to write recently, this one was a good report.  Entering his office and closing the door, Al turned and was confronted by the stack of those other reports. He stared at the tall stack of manila folders bulging in one way or another with papers. "No," he said firmly then walked to the desk and laid the Bible on top of the stack.  "Not this time," he stated firmly before moving around the desk.  Sitting down, Al reached for the legal pad he always drafted his reports on, picked up a pen and began to write, the words flowing effortlessly.

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

8—Psalm 139:7-10

9—Exodus 14:13a, 14

10—I Kings 19:11-13

11—Philippians 3:12

12—Philippians 3:13-14

d—“The Great Adventure” words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman and Geoff Moore, © 1992 Sparrow Song/Peach Hill Songs/BMI/Songs on the ForeFront/SESAC

e—“Not Home Yet”  words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman, © 1997 Sparrow Song/Peach Hill Songs/ BMI

f—“The Great Adventure” words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman and Geoff Moore, © 1992 Sparrow Song/Peach Hill Songs/BMI/Songs on the ForeFront/SESAC

g—“No Better Place”  words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman and Phil Naish, © 1990 Sparrow Song/Greg Nelson Music/Careers-BMG Music Publishing/BMI/Davaub Music