VIRTUAL SEASONS EPISODES

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 ones 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.

PROLOGUE

The electrified quantum blue energy receded, then faded away. A rarity in the profession of a Leaper, there was nobody standing in front of him, demanding an answer to a question he had no chance of correctly answering. He did not find himself in any sort of compromising situation. He was not in any immediate danger. He was alone, sitting at a cluttered desk in an office. Soft sunlight filtered in from behind him in thin beams, casting stretched shadows across the shag carpeted floor. A porcelain mug filled with black coffee sat next to a stack of papers. Sam smiled to himself, picked up the mug, and took a cautious sip. Fresh, hot, and bold. He looked up at the ceiling and said, “Thank you.”

He was about to take another sip when he saw the only door to the office, expecting it to be flying open at any moment. The door did not open. With a satisfied smile, Sam enjoyed his coffee, going through the stack of papers on the desk. He glossed over them, noticing a purchase requisition for washing machines. Other papers had an OAKWOOD CHILDREN'S HOME letterhead on them. “Children’s home?” Sam said to himself as he stood up, moving around the desk. When he saw the knee length blue skirt he was wearing, the matching coat with large buttons, white blouse, and white heels, he frowned. “No, no, not the heels again,” he said, trying to maintain his balance. No matter how long he had been Leaping through time, the one skill he never quite perfected was walking in heels. Slipping the heels off, he decided this was the best time to take a good look at his new surroundings.

In front of the ornate desk were two chairs. One wall of the office was comprised of mostly bookshelves, fully stocked. The other side of the office held framed pictures, and in the center of the pictures was a diploma. It was a Doctor of Education issued from Oklahoma State University to Miranda Helen Bishop. The conferral date was March 16, 1968. The pictures surrounding the diploma were of children, ranging in ages from toddlers to teenagers. Some were of the children playing in a playground, others were of them running and laughing on a field of lush green grass. A few were exterior pictures of Oakwood Children's Home. Another one had a tall dark-haired woman with slender, pale features, standing in the middle of a group of children and scrawled in elegant cursive at the bottom was MIRANDA AND HER KIDDOS.

He finished his coffee and immediately wanted another cup. He was determined to enjoy every moment of solitude he had before the chaos took over. He saw a small table near the door that had a coffee pot. He had finished pouring another cup and was about to take his first sip when the door flew open, bumping his shoulder. The piping hot coffee sloshed out of the mug and all over his face, stinging his eyes, and soaking his blouse. Two young boys, who looked no older than ten years old and clad in collared shirts and bell-bottom pants, stood there, eyes wide in shock. They exchanged looks of dread, with one of them muttering, “Oh boy.”

PART ONE

February 7, 1973

“Ms. Bishop,” said the other boy. He nervously adjusted the blue ball cap he was wearing. “We didn’t mean to make you spill your coffee. We’re sorry.”

“Yeah,” his friend said, bobbing his head. “I know we should’ve knocked first but I just had to tell you that we didn’t do it. Don’t listen to Mr. Harrison.”

Sam, still recovering from the coffee that had splashed into his eyes, went over to the desk and set the mug down. Finding a box of tissues in one of the desk drawers, he dabbed a wadded handful at his face, wiping at his eyes. There was no cleaning the coffee stain from the blouse. He motioned for the two boys to take a seat. They did. He went back behind the desk and sat down. “Okay,” he said, doing a poor job at discreetly adjusting his skirt, “will one of you please tell me what exactly is going on?”

Both stated talking, their voices overlapping one another. Sam held up a hand. “I said for one of you to tell me.” He looked at the boy wearing the blue hat and said, “How about you?”

The boy nodded, looked at his friend and then back at Sam. “Well, Ms. Bishop, Robby and I were playing in the hall near the storage room, right? Mr. Harrison shows up and he tries to open one of the doors and then he says… he says that there’s glue in the locks. He thinks it was us!”

For some reason, Sam found the situation to be funny. He didn’t know why. He said, “Did you put glue in the locks?”

“No,” the boy immediately replied. “No, we didn’t.”

Robby said, “Of course we didn’t. You’ve gotta believe us.”

Sam studied them for a few moments, paying close attention to their body language. The constant fidgeting alone was plenty to give them away. “Hold out your hands, please.” Reluctantly, they complied. On Robby’s fingers were dried remnants of glue. Sam looked back at him. “Are you sure about that?”

Robby dropped his head. “Fine. I did it.”

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know. We were bored, I guess. I thought it was funny.”

“You were ---” Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I want you to help Mr. Harrison fix the locks. The both of you. After that ---” He felt that there should be a little more to the punishment “--- I want the both of you to report to my office.”

“And then what?” Robby’s friend asked.

Another voice, one only Sam could hear, said, “Yeah, and then what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. He dismissed the boys. As they left, Robby could be hearing saying, “She was a lot cooler with that than I’d thought.” When Robby and his friend left, he turned to Al. Al, wearing a white coat with a brown collared button up shirt, orange tie, and black slacks, looked as if he could blend right in with the office’s decor.

“You know what would’ve happened to me if I’d done something like putting glue in the locks back when I was in the orphanage? I would’ve had my a ---”

“Al,” Sam said, plucking at the coffee-stained area on his blouse, “we’ll go down Memory Lane sometime later. I’m not really in the mood right now.” What serenity he had been feeling was long gone.

Taking notice of the spilled coffee, Al frowned and said, “Sorry, Sam. Hey, it could be worse, y’know?” He held up the handlink, tapped a few of its blocky buttons, and waited until it stopped chirping. He said, “Let’s see. Ziggy’s got the basic info here. It’s ---"

Sam looked at the calendar tucked away on the upper right-hand corner of the desk. The first six days of February were X’ed out. “Wednesday, February 7, 1973. My name is Miranda Bishop and, apparently, I’m in charge of the Oakwood Children’s Home in Claremont, Oklahoma.”

Feeling perturbed, Al went to pocket the handlink. “Y’know, Sam, a simple ‘I already know’ would’ve sufficed. Besides,” he added, feigning smugness, “her actual title is Directress of Oakwood.” He was going to say something else but stopped when he noticed his friend was looking a little haggard. “Are you feeling okay, Sam? You look like you’re coming off a bender.”

Sam gave Al a confused look. At first, he had no idea what Al was talking about. Then, it sunk in. The sense of restlessness, the feeling of pushing himself beyond his limits. It felt familiar yet strange at the same time. It happened sometimes during Leaps, where the connection between Leaper and host was strong. In some cases, it was something little like mannerisms or nervous ticks. In other cases, it was far more serious, at times affecting Sam’s health. “It must be mind-merging with Miranda.”

The moment Al slipped the handlink into his coat pocket, it chirped a couple of times and beeped loudly once. He took the link back out and read the data scrolling across the screen. “Ziggy’s got something for us.”

Sam perked an eyebrow. “Already? That’s quick, even for Ziggy.”

Al agreed. He read the data back to Sam. “Oakwood Children’s Home burned down in the early hours of February 10, 1973. The actual cause of the fire was never determined but it was thought to be due to faulty wiring. Ten people, four adults and six children, were injured; four children died.”

“Who are they?”

Al read off the names. “Robert Mercer, Michael Ashton, Melissa Covington, and Jeffrey Henderson.”

Sam paced the office. It helped with his thought process. “Okay, we don’t know for sure what caused the home to catch fire. It could’ve been from faulty wiring or something completely unrelated. The process of elimination. First thing I’ll do is call for the city safety inspector to come down here and inspect the wiring.”

“That’s a great idea, Sam,” Al said. “But what are you going to tell the inspector?”

Sam kept pacing. “I don’t know… I can tell them that I thought I smelled something burning in one of the rooms. Yeah.” He paused for a moment, made eye contact with Al, and then resumed his pacing. “That’s it. I can say I smelled a strong burning odor coming from… one of the hallways.”

“There’s no telling when they’ll be able to come over. It could be days, weeks… We only have three days to work with, Sam.”

“I know. But it’s all I’ve got. That is, until you and Ziggy can dig a little deeper and find out what caused that fire.”

Al inputted the code that opened the Imaging Chamber door. Stepping through the sheet of light, he said, “I’ll get to work with Ziggy. I can’t promise you anything, though. These small rural towns didn’t keep the best records, y’know.” He pushed a button on the handlink and the door closed.

Sam did not waste any time. He looked up the number he needed to call from the phone book Miranda kept in the bottom drawer of her desk and called the safety inspector. After nearly three minutes of waiting on hold, he was finally put through to the inspector. Sam told him exactly what he had said to Al and the response he got only made matters worse.

“Dr. Bishop,” the inspector said, “I was just out there last month. Oakwood passed inspection. I didn’t find any shorts in the wiring or any scorch damage.”

“Yes, I know that but I think you need to come back out here and check again. I swear, I smelled something burning. Please.”

An audible sigh. Then: “Are all the other lights working?”

“Yes.”

“Is the smell located to a single area or is it throughout the building?”

“Just in the hallway for now. But I’m worried that it’ll spread to other areas.”

“Okay, let’s see. I can be out there on the… eleventh. Eight a.m.”

“No, that’ll be too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Damn it. He mentally cursed himself for that foolish slip of the tongue. “Look, I’m just really worried that there is something wrong. I am responsible for the safety of the children and staff here. Please, can it be any sooner?”

“I can try. I’ll put you down for the eleventh at eight – but, if I can make it anytime sooner, I’ll call you.”

Sam thanked him and hung up the phone. Well, it’s something, right? Better than nothing. Thinking it over and over did not make him more inclined to believe it. If anything, it aggravated his frustration and worsened his fears. A great deal of what he was feeling was due to sharing a strong link with Miranda but everything else was all him. For the time being, he forced himself to accept that he is doing all he can, so the next thing he needed to do was explore the rest of Oakwood, get to know the children and the staff.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mr. Harrison was head of the custodial staff. After a brief talk with him, Sam assured him that Robby and his friend, Mike, would be properly reprimanded. The boys glued five locks. Sam watched as Robby and Mike helped Mr. Harrison replace all the locks. He then moved on to meet the rest of the staff. Sam learned that there were fifty people working at Oakwood, twelve of them being volunteers. Sam spoke with some of the teachers which, by the way, made up about six of the volunteers on staff. They were all certified to teach, much to Sam’s delight. He was not familiar with how these institutions operated and so, in the persona of its Directress, he needed to be as knowledgeable as possible. 

He also learned that Oakwood was woefully underfunded. He spent the next few hours with the children. As it turned out, Miranda was known by all to spend nearly every waking hour at the home so seeing Sam in the later hours was not much of a surprise. Of the children he spent time with, Melissa Covington and Jeffrey Henderson were two of his priorities. They were great kids; Melissa just had her ninth birthday and Jeffrey was twelve. Jeffrey loved baseball and Melissa wanted to be a dancer when she grew up. Robert Mercer – Robby – was best friends with Mike Ashton.

By ten o’clock that night, all the children were asleep and the staff had retired to their apartments. There were a couple of security officers on duty but that did not keep Sam from doing his own patrol. Oakwood was a three-story building with a basement. The main floor had the laundry rooms, restrooms, a reading room, and a meeting place for staff and visitors. Right outside on the other side of the building was the playground area. The second floor held the dormitories and the classrooms. The third floor held the staff apartments and another washroom.

He passed by the restroom and in his periphery caught a glimpse of his reflection. Flipping on the light switch, he took a moment to study the face of the tired woman staring back at him. He saw the dark circles under her eyes and he did not doubt for a moment that he sported a matching pair. He turned off the lights and resumed his walk.

As he walked the halls, he was struck by an idea. He and Al had done something similar with the handlink before – something about finding a bullet behind a large painting. In a church somewhere…

PART TWO

Sam got four hours of sleep the first night. To his relief, he found that Miranda had a room set up at the home; it was what he had initially guessed to be a closet in the office. What little sleep he did get was rough. Over the years spent Leaping he had conditioned his body to operate off of minimal sleep but what troubled him the most – other than preventing the home from catching fire – was how all the needs of the home would be met, whether the children were receiving all the care they deserved, if the staff was truly happy working at Oakwood, if he was truly making a difference in the lives he had touched.

Sam was in his office, sitting at his desk with Al standing to the side, smoldering cigar in one hand, the handlink in the other. Sam now wore another white blouse but replaced the skirt with a pair of blue jeans and the heels for sneakers. Al, now clad in a shimmering silver jacket, red button-up shirt, black tie, brown slacks, and fedora, frowned at his friend’s attire. “Sam, do you really think that what you’re wearing is professional? Blue jeans and sneakers? You’re supposed to be in charge of this place.”

It was 7:30 in the morning and Sam was already on his third cup of coffee. He regarded the hologram with a sideways glance over the rim of his mug. “It’s comfortable, Al. I can move around freely. Besides, I wouldn’t talk. You run Quantum Leap and you’re dressed in a jacket that looks like it can tune in Mars.” No sooner did the words leave his lips, he frowned an apology.

Al, momentarily taken aback, shrugged it off. “Hey,” he said with wave of the hand holding the cigar, “no offense taken. It’s been rough for all of us lately, I get it.” When he saw that Sam still looked troubled, he added, “If it’s any consolation, before checking in on you, I went to see Miranda in the Waiting Room. Poor woman looks like she hasn’t slept in years. We spoke for a little bit. She didn’t panic when she arrived – she thought she finally had her mental break. Really calm about the whole thing, too. Anyway, Ziggy confirmed that the link between you two is strong so what you’re feeling – the anxiety, insomnia – is coming from her.”

“Speaking of Ziggy, were you two able to uncover anything else about what happened?”

Al puffed on his cigar for a moment and then said, “Hmm. Yeah, we did. Not much, but it’s something. In the original history, after the home burned down, Miranda retired and relocated to California. In our time, she’s at an assisted living institution. Some of the volunteers were able to pick up the pieces but others struggled for a long time. The families of the children lost to the fire, that’s a whole other story. They never recovered from the loss.”

Sam, thinking back upon the thoughts he shared with Miranda, asked Al, “Wait, so she gave up on teaching? That doesn’t sound right. What else do we have on her?”

Al asked Ziggy through the handlink. “Miranda married in 1952 but she lost her husband, Jack Bishop, to cancer in 1959. They had no children. A few years later, she went back to school and earned her doctorate in education. She’s been with Oakwood since ’71.” Al went to pocket the handlink when a series of rapid chirps stopped him. He read the data and then said to Sam, “This is interesting. Dr. Beeks is with Miranda right now and Miranda just told her that she fought like hell to give her husband the best possible care, right up until the day he died. After that, she sought a career that allowed her to help others – her way of making it up to her husband…”

“And when she lost Oakwood, she gave up,” Sam finished. He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t let that happen, Al. Which,” he added as he stood up, “leads me to my idea. I was thinking that maybe we can use the handlink to scan the building’s electrical wiring.”

Al stopped in mid-puff on his cigar, his eyes widened in surprise. With the cigar still in his mouth, he said, “Ah, Sam, that would take a long time. We’d have to scan each wall on each floor individually. And even then, that would take a great deal of power.”

“We did it before, remember? It was during one of my Leaps. We were in a church and we had to find a bullet. I remember you using the handlink to scan for it.”

“Yeah, that was for just one object in a confined area. What you’re talking about is a full sweep of Oakwood. The handlink might not be strong enough for something like that.”

Sam allowed his desperation to come through. “It’s all I’ve got, Al.”

Seeing the pained look in his friend’s green eyes, Al nodded. “All right, buddy. Let me see what Ziggy and I can come up with. Modifying the handlink for this might not be a quick job but I’ll do the best I can.”

“Thank you.”

Al called open the Imaging Chamber door. He stepped through and, with a reassuring smile, the door closed. Sam was left alone in the office. Until Al returned, there was not much else he could do so he elected to take to observing the classrooms. He wanted to see how the children were being taught and, perhaps, there might be some good he can do in the meantime to help them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam had spent the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon observing the classrooms. From what he saw, the teachers expressed a genuine desire and passion in what they did; the children, for the most part, were actively engaged in the lessons. Scrawled in near-perfect cursive at the top of the dusty green chalkboard was the name MRS. HANLON. There was one child that did not seem to be interested; in fact, she appeared to be upset. Sam waited until the teacher had finished her lesson before asking to speak with the student.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Sam said as Mrs. Hanlon prepared her next lesson. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Don’t be silly, Dr. Bishop,” Mrs. Hanlon replied. “I’m glad to help out with anything you need.”

Sam indicated the girl sitting at the back of the class with a discreet tip of the head. “Have you noticed anything different about her?”

Mrs. Hanlon looked at the girl and then at Sam. “Michelle Stevens? Well, no, not really. Nothing out of the usual.”

“She seems rather upset, too much for someone at such a young age.”

“Her father was killed in Vietnam just last year.”

Sam’s heart dropped at the tragic news. “I’m… I’m terribly sorry. I should’ve known…”

Mrs. Hanlon regarded Sam with a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay, ma’am. You’ve got plenty on your plate as it is.”

Reach out to her. Talk to her. Heeding the advice of his gut instinct, he asked if he could speak with Michelle. Mrs. Hanlon happily agreed and called for Michelle to go with Sam. Once they were out in the hallway, Sam was about to speak when Michelle folded arms and glared at him.

“Am I in trouble, ma’am?”

“Um, well, no. I just wanted to see how you were doing. If you needed to talk to someone, I am here to listen.”

“No, thanks.”

Sam took a knee so he could be eye level with Michelle. He said, “Look, I know it’s tough, what you’re going through. The loss of a parent is something that you never fully get used to, I know. When I was young, I lost my father. I was very close to him. He meant the world to me. So, when he died, I was heartbroken. I was angry… mad at the world. Over time I learned how to channel that anger into something creative, something positive. Michelle, the pain never really goes away, but it can be managed. I can help you, if you ever need someone to talk to.”

Michelle, to Sam’s delight, seemed to be listening. She picked her head up and looked at Sam. “Is it wrong to be mad at him for dying?”

Sam said, “No, not at all. I was mad at my father when he passed away. But, do you know what helped me overcome that kind of anger?” When she shook her head, he smiled and said, “I know my father loved me very much. He cared for me the best way he could, much like your father cared for you.” When she fought to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks, he assured her it was perfectly fine to cry and, when she did, she fell into his arms. As she cried into his shoulder, Sam told her something that would stay with her for years to come. “Not all is lost, Michelle. There is a part of your father that will always live on. His guidance, the love he had for you, the morals he instilled in you. They never go away.”

As Michelle continued to cry, Sam reflected on all the times he spent with his father, growing up on the farm in Indiana. Unbeknownst to Michelle, Sam’s eyes glossed with tears.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was shortly after six p.m. when Al returned. In a change of mood from earlier in the day, he was in good spirits. In fact, he looked excited and when Sam commented on it, Al said enthusiastically, “Okay, so Ziggy and I wracked our brains – well, I wracked my brain, she wracked her microprocessors – and we came up with something that’s sure to work. All right, we took the idea about using the handlink as a scanner and expanded on it. Instead of going through each floor individually, Ziggy was able to reserve enough power to set up an entire grid.”

“That’s great, Al!”

“Well, yes, but there’s a catch. You see, to do that, we’ll only have enough power to maintain the grid for about 10 seconds. But,” he added when he saw that Sam was already becoming frustrated, “that’ll be plenty of time for Ziggy to scan Oakwood and see if there’s anything wrong with the wiring.”

Sam nodded. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Al keyed in the code on the handlink. A shimmering beam of blue light emitted from the top of the handlink and connected with the ceiling. The ceiling was covered in what looked like an old fisherman’s net, which, in the blink of an eye, scattered throughout the first floor, then the second, and finally the third. For seven seconds, Oakwood Children’s Home was draped in a shimmering blue energy net and, while Sam did see anything else, Al was reading the data as it appeared on the handlink. 

“Uh oh,” Al said, his eyes not leaving the handlink. “Oh, this isn’t good.”

Sam’s heart raced. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

The scanning net flickered rapidly and then blinked out of existence. Al jabbed a finger at the buttons, but nothing came of it except for the hollow clicks of the buttons. He lowered the handlink, shaking his head. “Sorry, Sam. I guess Ziggy had a sloppy floppy on this one. Power cut out.”

“Did you get anything?”

Al read what little data he had from the scan. “Before we lost power, Ziggy was able to scan the basement and the first two floors. Nada. She didn’t find anything wrong with the wiring.”

“Which only leaves the third floor,” Sam said. Despite the frustration, he saw the positive. “At least that narrows it down a bit. I can work with that.”

“I’ll see if Ziggy can come up with anything else.”

Sam thanked him with a slight nod. Time was running short and he was running out of ideas. He’d pushed it close to the wire before. Not every Leap has ended on a happy note. If he couldn’t prevent the fire, he sure as hell could do everything within his power to save the lives of those children.

PART THREE

Sam called the inspector the following day, again, to see if things had changed. They did not. After walking the entire third floor several times, Sam could not find any potential safety risks. He checked for loose outlets, cracks in the walls that could expose any wiring, anything that came to mind. He thought about checking the staff apartments to see if perhaps any of the staff had appliances that might not be safe. But, then again, he couldn’t inspect all the rooms without stirring any suspicion and, quite possibly, fear among the staff. He went back to his office, taking full advantage of the solitude to plan his next move.

Going through some of the papers on his desk, Sam came across a domicile inspection sheet that Miranda had compiled. It was dated January 16. Sam’s brow perked at an idea that quickly formed. It hadn’t quite been a month since the last round of inspections but it was close enough. During the lunch hour, he put out a notice for a mandatory meeting to be held at 7:30 that night in the reading room. There, next to the inspection sheet, was one of many requisition forms but this one was for construction work on the basement.

“Of course,” Sam muttered, mentally kicking himself for not having considered looking at the basement. Yes, Ziggy and Al’s brief scan did include the basement but Sam had yet to go down there. “Why didn’t I…” He got up from the desk, left the office, and followed the main hallway until he came upon the descending staircase. It led to the basement.

The basement was in the process of being converted into a recreation room. According to Miranda’s records, they had run out of funds for the renovation six months ago. Almost everything in there was covered with dirty white canvas sheets. Sam crossed the room and lifted one of the sheets to see what was underneath. There were two pinball machines, one was missing its glass top and the other missing its flippers. Sam went to the other side of the room and peeked underneath the other canvas sheet and saw a television set that looked like it had come from somewhere during the 1960s.

On the other side of the basement was completely gutted. Sam maneuvered his way around open bags of concrete mix and power tools left lying on the floor. Next to Sam was a wheelbarrow full of scrap metal and wood and not far from that was another one, empty. Sam carefully picked up the power tools, placed them into one wheelbarrow that was empty, and moved them out of the way to one of the corners of the room.

Sam sneezed. He looked down and saw that he had left footprints on the sawdust-covered floor. He inspected the basement for any potential fire hazards. Aside from the neglected power tools, there was nothing else he could see. Most of the wiring had been installed but the breaker panel and all outlets were properly covered.

Sam heard the distinct hydraulic whoosh of the Imaging Chamber door open, promptly followed its equally distinct heavy metallic thunk. Al stood behind him, the handlink chirping in his hand.

“Great,” Sam grumbled, “just great.” He sneezed again. His mouth was coated in dust.

“You’re doing the best you can,” Al said.

“Al,” Sam said, doing his best not to snap at his friend, “the fire happens tomorrow morning, all right? I have less than a day now and I haven’t made a damn bit of progress.”

Al glanced at the handlink and said, “Well, actually, that’s not true. That’s what I’m here to tell you, Sam. Ziggy’s now saying that the odds of the fire happening have gone down to 32.4 percent. So, whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up.”

“I’m having a meeting with the staff here in a few hours. I’d like for you to stick around for that.”

Al nodded. “Sure, buddy.”

Sam said, “I’m going to go back the office and get everything ready for tonight. Meet me there.”

Al tapped a button on the handlink and blinked out of view. Sam took the stairs. When he got to the top, he locked the door. Waiting for him near the entrance was a man that Sam had guessed to be somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties and standing next to him was a little girl in a green dress; she looked no older than four or five years old. He had been speaking with one of the staff members when he saw Sam.

“Ms. Bishop?” the man said to Sam. He was holding the little girl’s hand. At his feet were two blue duffel bags.

Sam went over to him and shook his free hand. The man forced a smile and said, “I’m Thomas Friedman. We spoke over the phone last Thursday. I know I’m an hour late. I’m terribly sorry.”

The little girl looked up at Sam and scrunched her nose. When Sam waved at her, she pressed herself against the man’s leg and buried her face into his side.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “Lydia’s a bit shy.” It took some coaxing but he got her to look back at Sam. “See, sweetheart? That’s the nice lady I was telling you about. She’s going to help us.”

Lydia shook her head. “That’s not a lady, that’s a man.”

He looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow and then back to Lydia. “Um, honey, she’s – she’s not a man. This is Ms. Bishop. She’s –” His eyes watered as he cleared his throat. “– can we continue this conversation somewhere else?”

“Of course,” Sam said. “We can talk in my office. If you’ll just follow me…” He led Thomas and Lydia to his office. Thomas tried carrying both bags; Sam politely took one of them and carried it. In the office, Al was standing next to the desk, waiting for Sam. Thomas sat down while Lydia stood there staring at Al. Sam set the bag that he had been carrying next to the desk.

“Sweetie,” Thomas said to Lydia, “please sit down so I can talk with Ms. Bishop.”

“That’s a man,” Lydia said as she reluctantly sat down next to him.

“I’m terribly sorry about that,” he said to Sam. “I guess she’s just acting out. I don’t blame her. This last week – hell, these last two years - has been tough.” Thomas must’ve picked up on the slight confusion Sam was feeling when he added, “I told you everything over the phone…”

“Yes, of course you did,” Sam said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He had no idea how to proceed with the conversation. He knew the purpose of Thomas Friedman’s visit: he was sending Lydia, his daughter, to Oakwood to live. As Miranda Bishop, he was supposed to know all the details. He glanced at Al, silently prompting the hologram to give him the information. Al quickly caught on and asked Ziggy through the handlink.

After a series of beeps and chirps from the handlink, Al had the information Sam needed. “Okay, back in September of ’71, Thomas Friedman’s wife, Angela, was hit by a drunk driver on her way home from work. She survived the crash but died at the hospital. Since then, Thomas struggled to make ends meet. He worked as a construction worker until they laid him off four months ago. What little money he had saved up is gone. They have no other family.”

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Now, Mr. Friedman, while Lydia is staying here, do you have anything set up for yourself?”

Thomas shook his head. “I have a friend whom I’ll be staying with for a little while. Only long enough to save up the money I need to buy a home for Lydia and me.” He turned to Lydia and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. To Sam, he said, “Now, this doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my daughter, you know. I’m doing this for her benefit. She needs stability.”

“Nobody here thinks that,” Sam said. “We’re here to help you and Lydia.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

“You’re doing what’s best for your daughter. There is no time limit, no rush. You take your time, Mr. Friedman, and do what you can. There’s no shame in what you’re doing.” Sam glanced at Al and then at Thomas. Al was uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and Thomas was on the verge of tears. Sam got up from the desk and went over to Thomas and placed a hand on his shoulder. He said, “You are more than welcome to come visit her anytime you wish. Our doors are always open to you.”

Thomas looked at Sam, the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d like that.” He smiled at Lydia, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “I’d like that a lot. You see, sweetheart, Daddy won't be too far away.”

The next hour had been spent reviewing and completing the necessary paperwork. When they were finished, Sam escorted Thomas to the lobby’s main door. Lydia and Al accompanied them. Thomas shook Sam’s hand, thanking him. Lydia cried when Thomas knelt and gave her one more hug.

“I’ll be back in a few days, I promise,” Thomas said as tears began to stream down his unshaven cheeks. “I swear I won’t be far away. And, you know, I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll be too busy –” He cleared his throat “— too busy having so much fun, you won’t notice that I’m gone.”

Lydia clung to her father. “I don’t want you to go, Daddy. You can stay here with me.”

Thomas kissed her on the forehead, held onto her for a few more moments, and then slowly stood up. He looked at Sam one last time, nodded, smiled at his daughter, and then left.

“Ah, hell,” Al said as he watched Lydia break down into a fit of crying. “I’m – I don’t know what to say. Hey,” he said, trying to get Lydia’s attention. “Hey, little one. You’ll be okay, I promise. You’re safe here.” Her fit letting up some; she looked at Al with reddened eyes.

“Who are you?” Lydia asked Al.

“Oh, my name’s Al.”

Lydia pointed at Sam and said, “Who’s he?”

Sam asked Al to check the rest of the lobby to make sure no one else was within earshot. Al was gone for a moment. When he blinked back into view, Lydia jumped. She reached out to touch Al, her green eyes growing wide when her hand passed right through Al’s image.

“The coast is clear,” Al said to Sam. He chuckled when Lydia jumped through his image, turning around to see her. “Hey, cut that out,” he told her playfully. Her fit of tears now a fit of laughter.

“My name,” Sam said to Lydia, “is Sam. We’re all, um, playing a little game. You see, everyone else is pretending that I am Ms. Bishop.”

“Why?”

Sam and Al exchanged looks. Al fumbled his way through a response, while Sam decided to keep it simple. “It’s just a fun game we like to play.”

Once Lydia had calmed down, Sam found her a room and unpacked all her belongings. Thomas had packed her plenty of clothes, a book of her favorite bedtime stories, a stuffed orange cat, and some small toys. Lydia told Sam that the stuffed cat was a special gift that her mommy had bought for her. Just as Sam had finished getting Lydia settled in, the door opened. Michelle Stevens walked in and sat on the bed across from Lydia, frowning at her.

Sam said, “Michelle, I’d like you to meet Lydia. Lydia will be staying with us for a little while.”

Michelle’s only response was a quick wave.

Lydia was quiet, too. Sam thought that Michelle could use a friend, the same for Lydia. He felt that this could also help Lydia with her transitioning into Oakwood and for Michelle to have someone to talk to, help her come out of her shell. “Michelle,” he said, “did you happen to see Lydia’s stuffed cat? Isn’t that neat?”

“I guess,” Michelle said flatly. As Sam thought of another ice breaker, Michelle leaned forward, looked past Sam, at something behind him. She said to Lydia, “Is that a Rainbow Kitten?” She moved past Sam, sitting next to Lydia, picking up a toy from one of the duffel bags.

“Yes,” Lydia said quietly.

“I’ve been wanting one but Ms. Bishop says I gotta wait for my birthday.”

Sam, taking his cue, went to the door, stood there for a moment and watched Michelle and Lydia. Sam quietly closed the door and walked down the hall. Al blinked into view next to the stairs.

“That was wonderful,” Al said.

Sam’s sense of accomplishment started to return. He had yet to prevent the fire but he was making a difference in the lives of these youths. They needed someone to fight for them, to be their champion. Yet, if he failed to prevent that fire then all of this would be for naught. He saw Al giving him a curious look. Sam waved a hand and started to descend the stairs.

“I need to get ready for the meeting.”

Al puffed on his cigar for a moment or two then, with a couple of taps on the handlink, his image vanished.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By 7:15, the entire staff was present in the reading room. It was a cramped fit, nearly elbow-to-elbow. A few of the teachers and all the maintenance staff stood near the door. Sam waited until 7:25 to approach the podium. Al was present, standing next to Sam.

Sam started the meeting by thanking everyone for attending. He wasted no time addressing his concerns for Oakwood, carefully choosing his words, so he wouldn’t risk slipping in front of the crowd by sharing information on future events. He told them that immediately following the meeting there would be an inspection of every staff apartment.

“Why, though?” asked Mr. Carpenter, an English teacher. He was middle-aged with thinning gray hair, a full salt-and-pepper beard, and wore thin-rimmed glasses. “We just had our inspection a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well, actually,” Sam cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, “it’s been longer than that. It’s been almost a month and, well, I was going over the inspections from last time and I thought that maybe I would make it a monthly thing.”

“Is everything all right, Dr. Bishop?” Mr. Carpenter appeared to be addressing the crowd more than he was Sam. “Is there something we should be concerned with?”

“No, everything’s fine. I assure you all that there is nothing to worry about.” Sam frowned when he heard murmurs of doubt ripple throughout the room. He glanced at Al, who was at as much of a loss.

After the meeting, Sam conducted the inspections and, as he had suspected would be the case, he found nothing that posed a safety hazard. The teachers were understandably concerned but thankfully not upset. By 9:30 he retired to his office, where Al was waiting for him. He kept the lights on; he did not want to the low lighting to induce drowsiness. The fire would happen in a matter of hours – unless Al had some good news.

Judging by the look on Al’s face, Sam wasn’t convinced he had any. Still, he asked.

PART FOUR

Al hedged on answering Sam’s question. He saw the look on the tired and worried Leaper’s face, sighed, and then said, “Well, the meeting wasn’t a waste of time. You managed to get the odds to go down a little. Ziggy’s giving it a –” he glanced at the handlink “— 28.2 percent chance that it still occurs.”

“When?”

Al sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Sometime in the next eight hours.”

“Al, I’ve done everything I could to stop this fire from happening. I’ve tried calling the safety inspector twice now. I’ve inspected every room on the third floor. I even checked the basement. I can’t find anything.”

“Ziggy’s scan didn’t find any problems,” Al offered.

“But Ziggy only scanned for defects in the building’s wiring,” Sam countered. “She didn’t consider other hazards, like appliances. All I can do now is wait until… something happens.” Sam frowned at what he had said, forcing himself to see past his frustration over the lack of control over the situation. “I’ll just have to walk around until then.”

Al said, “Wait a minute, Sam. You’re going to just walk around the home for the next eight hours? You’ll raise a lot of suspicion.”

“Like I hadn’t with that meeting? What other options do I have?”

At a loss for an answer, Al shrugged his shoulders and, at almost the same time, the handlink emitted a couple of soft chirps, as if it too had nothing helpful to offer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At one a.m., Mr. Carpenter and Ms. Hanlon were in the reading room, sitting at one of the tables. Neither one could get any sleep; both were troubled but for different reasons. Ms. Hanlon didn’t seem to mind so much as Mr. Carpenter. The English teacher wore his emotions on his sleeve.

“I don’t understand why it bothers you so much,” Ms. Hanlon said. “She was only doing her job. Oakwood is over a hundred years old, Mark.”

“I’ve known Miranda since the day she took over,” Mr. Carpenter said. “She never does anything without letting us know about it first.”

“She did tell us.”

“No, she had the whole thing planned out and then told us about right before. Look, I think there’s something going on… something that she doesn’t want us to know.”

“Like what?”

Silence was his answer.

“That’s not all, is it?” Ms. Hanlon said. “That’s not what’s bothering you.”

He said, “No, it’s not. Oakwood is almost out of money, Regina. We’ve had to cut back costs at every corner. We don’t have enough school supplies for all the kids, some of the textbooks are out of date, we had to cancel almost all of our after-school programs… The list goes on.”

Ms. Hanlon nodded her agreement. “I know. The last couple of years has been tough. I’m surprised Dr. Bishop’s been able to keep Oakwood going for this long.”

“I’m not so much worried about myself as I am about those kids. They already have it rough. What’ll happen if we lose this place? Where will they go?”

This time, Ms. Hanlon let silence be her answer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Robby Mercer and Michael Ashton waited until Mr. Carpenter and Ms. Hanlon left the reading room before making their move. They were hidden in one of the bathrooms near the end of the hallway. They could hear them talking but couldn’t make out everything that was being said. This wasn’t the first time they had snuck out of their room in the middle of the night. It was the only time they could do whatever they wanted without all the adults getting after them.

They ducked into the shadows as the teachers walked right by them. Mr. Carpenter, one of Robby’s teachers, tripped and nearly fell face first onto the floor. One of his shoelaces had become untied. He wasn’t looking down at his shoe as he was tying it. They left, taking the stairs.

Michael nudged Robby’s shoulder. “I thought you said you said everyone would be sleeping,” he whispered harshly. “Dude, we almost got caught.”

Robby waved off Michael’s concern. “No, we didn’t. Relax. Nobody saw us.” He moved past Mike and motioned for Mike to follow. “Besides, I just saw Ms. Bishop go in the other direction. I think she was headin’ back to her office or something. We’re in the clear.” He jammed a hand into his jeans pocket and produced a rumpled soft pack of unfiltered Camels. “I’ve been savin’ these, man. I wanna try ‘em out.”

Mike said, “I don’t know, Robby. I heard those things are bad for you.” He frowned at his friend. “Where’d you even get an entire pack?”

Robby smirked. “Mr. Carpenter left it in the reading room Monday night. He even left his lighter behind.” He didn’t care if it was good or bad – he wanted to try it. He saw the teachers smoke all the time so it couldn’t be all that bad, right? He looked around to see where they could go hide for a little bit and smoke. “This way,” he said. Mike followed him to the stairs that led to the basement. Robby grabbed the doorknob and tried turning it. The door was locked.

“C’mon,” Mike said, “it’s locked. We can’t get in. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“I got this,” Robby said. He plucked a piece of skinny bent metal from the breast pocket of his red collared shirt.

“What’s that?”

“It’s an Allen key. These locks are pretty simple, man. They’re the ones that locks with the button. See that small hole in the knob?” He stuck the straight end of the Allen key into the hole, pushed once, and the door creaked open. “Just like that.” He went down the stairs. Michael followed, closing the door behind him.

Robby knew exactly where he was going. Moving through the dark was no problem for him. He went over to the workbench and grabbed a flashlight that had been left behind when those guys had stopped working. He thumbed the switch – and accidentally blinded Mike with the light. “Sorry.”

“Here we are,” Robby said, setting the flashlight down on the workbench, its wide beam facing them. He removed one of the smokes from the pack with his lips and flicked the wheel on the scratched Zippo. It took three tries for it to light. Robby brought the tip of the smoke to the flame. Not even halfway through his first drag, he broke out into a rough coughing fit.

Mike waved the smoke away from his face. “Dude, that thing stinks. C’mon, let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

“Don’t be a wuss.” Robby took a few more drags before giving it up. His head swam, his arms and hands tingled. “Ack. I think I’m done.” Both he and Mike jumped when they heard the distinct creaking of floorboards coming from upstairs. “Damn it,” Robby whispered harshly, frantically looking for a place to hide the smoke.

“We’re busted. I knew it.” Mike turned to run, bumping into Robby, causing him to drop the smoke – right onto the sawdust covered floor. The floor immediately caught fire. The boys were frozen in fear. Finally, it was Robby who made the first move. He jerked back when the fire caught his shoe, bumping into the rickety wooden workbench. It was one of those workbenches where its shelving reached near the top of the ceiling. He toppled forward, the bench pinning him onto the ground. The bench was now aflame. Scattered pieces of wood surrounded the fallen boy and, within seconds, they too were aflame.

A voice came from upstairs. “Robby! Mike!”

“Ms. Bishop!” Mike tried freeing Robby but to no avail. “Help us!”

PART FIVE

Sam and Al were in the lobby, planning their next move. They had covered the entire building. All was quiet. It was now a little past one in the morning.

“I don’t know, Al,” said Sam. He paced in front of the hologram. “I’ve gone over the entire home with a fine-toothed comb. I can’t find anything that would cause this fire. Maybe Ziggy’s wrong on this one.” He stopped his pacing long enough to look Al in the eye. He said, “Have Ziggy revise her data.” He resumed his pacing.

Al keyed in the inquiry on the handlink. He said, “Y’know, Sam, you’re making me nervous.”

“Just ask Ziggy.”

Al waited through the brief series of chirps and beeps. He frowned at what he saw and slapped the side of the handlink with the palm of his hand. His eyes widened. “Um, Sam? This isn’t – Ziggy’s saying the odds on the firing happening within the next two minutes are 38.2… no, 42.6… 58.5… 62.3… 78.4…”

Sam halted in his tracks. “Where?”

Al tilted his head, listening to a voice that Sam could not hear. He said apparently to the air, “That isn’t good enough, Zig. We need to know exactly wh –” He paused, listened, and pointed past Sam. “The basement.”

Sam bolted. Al blinked out of view. He reappeared right as Sam came up on the door. It was locked. Panic had gripped Al. “Get in there now, Sam! Robby Mercer and Mike Ashton are trapped in there. Robby looks hurt. He’s pinned down underneath one of the workbenches. Mike’s trying to help him up but can’t.”

“Robby! Mike!” Sam beat on the door. He stopped pounding on the door when he heard Mike call out to him.

“Ms. Bishop. Help us!”

Sam took a step back and kicked the door in. He raced down the steps and over to where the boys were. Al blinked into view next to the boys. He moved Mike out of the way and said over his shoulder, “Go upstairs and call for help.”

Mike was reluctant to leave. He looked at his friend, now passed out from smoke inhalation. “But Robby –”

Sam was trying to lift the workbench off Robby. “I will help Robby. I need you to go to the teachers. Now.”

Mike left. Now with the door upstairs open, the smoke had a means of escape. His face streaked with soot, Sam tried lifting the bench. He got it up a way when the wood groaned, cracked, and then split, the bottom half falling back down – onto Sam’s shoulder. He used the leverage to drag Robby with his free arm to safety. His free arm started to come out of its socket, Sam grunting and then screaming as he exerted what strength he had to get the boy free. His shoulder seared as the flame drew closer. After what felt like to Sam an eternity, one of the teachers came running down the stairs. It was Mr. Carpenter.

“Miranda,” he said, going to lift the burning workbench off Sam.

“No, stop. Get Robby out of here.”

“But, I –”

“I’ll be fine. Get him out of here now.”

Mr. Carpenter picked up the unconscious boy and went up the stairs. Al knelt beside Sam, watching in horror, helpless to do anything, as his lifelong and dearest friend was about to be engulfed in flames. “C’mon, Sam. I know you can do this.”

By this time, Sam had breathed in a great deal of smoke. His head swam, his vision blurred, his strength began slipping away. He went for another attempt to shove the top-heavy workbench but it was a feeble one. The flame caught his shoulder and Sam cried out in pain.

“SAM! NO!”

Sam heard Al shouting, but it was distant. The world went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next thing Sam knew he was in the hospital. He was not alone. Al stood next to him, beaming what had to be the greatest smile he wore in a long time. “Sam, thank God you’re all right.”

“What happened, Al?” He tried sitting up but the white-hot pain lancing across his shoulders stopped him.

“You barely got out alive. Mr. Carpenter. Had he been even a moment later, you’d have died.” Al consulted the handlink. “Oh, here we go. After you were pulled to safety, the teachers were able to put out the fire before it could leave the basement. The fire department took care of the rest. Oakwood isn’t shut down. Everyone is still able to stay there. Construction crews are already in place to fix the damage.”

Sam said, “How bad is it, my injuries?”

“You suffered third degree burns on both of your shoulders, your neck, and some of your upper back. Ziggy says that once you Leap out –”

“The injury stays behind.”

Al nodded solemnly. “I stopped by the Waiting Room on my way to see you to tell Miranda. She understood, thankfully. She was more concerned with Robby and Mike’s safety. She’s a remarkable woman, Sam. She told me that she’ll simply have to learn to live with it.”

That did little to soothe the ache Sam felt for leaving Miranda to deal with a lifetime of excruciating physical pain. “This doesn’t cost her to lose her job, does it?”

“Oh, no. She goes on running Oakwood for another 25 years. What you did back there made her a local hero. As a matter of fact, in two weeks the teachers are going to put together a fundraiser for the home and it’s a huge success. They raise enough money to repair the fire damage. Because of the fire, awareness was brought to the public regarding Oakwood’s financial struggles. The town pulls together and helps supply the kids with everything they need and, over the next couple of decades, Oakwood expands. In our time, Oakwood has a gym, two Olympic-sized swimming pools, a football field.”

Despite the intense pain, Sam smiled. “That’s great, Al. What happens to the kids?”

Al read the data off the handlink. “We don’t have anything on Robby Mercer after he turns 18 and leaves Oakwood; he just disappears. Mike Ashton, on the other hand, goes on to become a police officer. He, too, marries and has a couple of kids.” In his other hand was an unlit cigar. Pocketing the handlink, he lit the cigar, took a deep pull, and exhaled. “Oh,” he said as an afterthought, “remember that little girl you gave the pep talk to?”

Sam remembered. “Melissa Covington.”

“That’s her. Well, she ends up living at Oakwood until her eighteenth birthday. She goes on to college and earns her doctorate in education, like Miranda.” As Sam beamed with pride, Al continued, obviously pleased with himself. “Oh, it gets better. It turns out that when Miranda retired in 1998, Melissa took over as Oakwood’s Directress, where she still runs the place.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Oh, and that little girl, the one who could see us?”

“Lydia Friedman,” Sam said.

“That’s right. She ends up living at Oakwood for a couple of years but she ends up going back to live with her dad when he finds a good job working for the city. After college, she returns to Oakwood as one of their English teachers.”

Sam could see in the hologram’s eyes that there was something he was holding back. “Okay,” Sam said, “out with it.”

“’Out with it?’ Out with what?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Al didn’t put up a fight. He said, “I, well, sort of told Miranda about what happens to some of the kids.” To Al’s surprise, Sam didn’t argue him on his decision, only receiving a perked eyebrow in response. Al misinterpreted Sam’s response. “She’s going to have it rough when she Leaps back, Sam. She’s going to spend the rest of her life dealing with –” He gestured at Sam’s bandaged back. “— that. I think we owe her one.”

“I agree.”

Al was oblivious to Sam’s comment. “Besides, we’re not exactly sure how much she’ll remember when she returns but –”

“Al.” Sam had to repeat himself one more time to get his friend’s attention. “I said I agree. You’re right. We owe her that much.”

Al was caught off guard. He was expecting Sam to get after him for revealing future information to a Visitor. “Oh, you do?” When Sam nodded, Al sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “I’m glad we can agree on that. I was certain that you were going to flip out.”

Sam said, “It’s okay. The worst of it is over.” He was silent for a few moments and then added, “So, if that’s true and everyone now has a brighter future, then why haven’t I Leaped yet?”

Al asked Ziggy through the handlink. He said, “We don’t know. There isn’t anything more for you do – not that you could do anything – so take advantage of the downtime. Maybe He’s—” He gestured at the ceiling with his cigar. “—letting you get some rest.”

Sam, reluctant to side on the sidelines for an indeterminate amount of time, had no other choice. It would be another two weeks before got his answer.

PART SIX

Sam had been transferred to a rehabilitation center a few miles from the hospital. The first two days were spent in therapy and establishing Sam’s – soon to be Miranda’s – treatment goals and strategies. The doctors had informed Sam that he would have limited range of motion for the rest of his life. On the third day, he received a surprise visit from some of the kids from Oakwood along with several of the teachers. Mr. Carpenter and Ms. Hanlon were among the teachers. Robby Mercer and Mike Ashton were among the children.

“How are you holding up?” Mr. Carpenter said, moving to give Sam a hug but stopping when he almost touched Sam’s bandages. “Miranda, I’m – I’m terribly sorry this happened to you.”

Sam smiled and said, “I appreciate your concern. I am more worried about the children. How have they been in my absence?”

“They’ve been good,” he said. “They’re still scared, understandably so. They’re worried about you. Some thought that you were… dead.” He frowned the moment the word ‘dead’ left his lips. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Sam assured him that it was okay. He turned to Ms. Hanlon, who stood next to Mr. Carpenter. She looked downright nervous. “Look, I don’t want any of you to worry about me, all right? I’m right where I need to be. I’m receiving the best possible care and I’ll be back at Oakwood before any of you know it.”

Al consulted the handlink. “In a couple of months.”

Ms. Hanlon gave Sam a smile/frown hybrid. “Um, Mrs. Wainwright from the board is taking your place until you return. She’s – we’re all worried, Miranda. We just want you to get better and come back.”

“And I will. I promise.” Sam looked past Ms. Hanlon and saw Robby standing by awkwardly. He motioned for him to come over. When Robby did, he refused to look at Sam. Sam said, “Robby, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

Robby nodded but still wouldn’t look at Sam. Sam gently encouraged Robby to look at him. After much prodding, Robby did, his eyes filmed with tears.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” Robby said, unable to hold back the tears any longer. Ms. Hanlon went to console him but Robby pulled away. “No, I did this to her. I almost killed her.”

Sam motioned to Ms. Hanlon to let him take care of the situation. He tipped Robby’s chin so that he was looking Sam in the eye. “I will be all right, Robby. I don’t want you blaming yourself for what happened.”

“But I’m the one who started the fire. All because I wanted a stupid cigarette.”

Sam tried again. “I want you to know that there are people out there who do care about you. Nobody blames you for what happened.”

Robby sniffed. “Yeah, right.”

Sam looked past him at Mr. Carpenter and Ms. Hanlon, indicating them to help him. Mr. Carpenter took the lead.

“Robby, Ms. Bishop is right. None of us blame you for the fire. We’re just glad that none of you were hurt.”

“Robby,” Sam said before Robby could interject, “you and the rest of the children are safe and that’s all that matters to me. I will be fine and back at Oakwood. You have my word.”

Finally, a smile broke out across Robby’s face. He didn’t say anything, instead nodding, wiping at his watery eyes and runny nose, and joining Mike and the other kids.

Al, having been standing next to Sam, read the revised data marching across the handlink’s viewscreen. “Hey, Sam, Ziggy says that you’ve changed Robby’s history. Now he goes on to be –” he lowered the handlink to give Sam an amused grin “— you’ll like this one - a fireman. Yeah. He marries and has three kids.”

The familiar slow crawling electric tingle took over Sam’s body. His vision tinted a dark blue, he could still see the children wanting to come over to where he lay on his bed. He motioned for them to come over, laughing as he was engulfed in electric blue light, the rest of the world lost to the cosmic white halo.

EPILOGUE

The first thing that Dr. Sam Beckett saw as the blue light of quantum leaping phased away were bright brown eyes looking up at him. A sudden scream filled his ears as the owner of the eyes quickly hurried into a corner of what, at a quick glance, appeared to be a very small and old kitchen.

Sam watched with wide eyes as the boy curled into the corner, turned away from Sam and sobbed, clearly frightened by Sam’s sudden appearance. Realizing that the boy could see him for himself rather than the Leapee, Sam also noticed, by the size of the boy, that he was approximately three years old. Taking a couple of careful steps towards the curly haired child, he slowly squatted a few feet away, enough to ensure that he wouldn’t further frighten him.

“I won’t hurt you,” Sam gently assured. “I promise.” He was rewarded when a small androgynous face turned to look at him warily. “I promise,” Sam repeated, grateful for the little step towards trust the boy was making. 

“Voglio Mama,” the boy said, causing Sam to frown slightly. “Dov’è Mama?”₁

“Umm…” Sam started, frowning at the boy’s words. He knew that the language was familiar to him but he also knew that he couldn’t speak it himself.

“VOGLIO MAMA! MAMA!” the boy started screaming, clearly not ready to trust the strange man that had suddenly taken his mother’s place.

“Oh, boy,” Sam murmured, wondering how he could calm the boy without knowing how to speak the boy’s language.

₁ Voglio Mama / Dov'è Mama? – I want Mama / Where's Mama?