From: aa811@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Terri M. Librande)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: Troubled Waters Part 3
Date: 7 Feb 1993 19:25:47 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
Lines: 330
Message-ID: <1l3nnrINNkgn@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu


Part 3

"I can understand that, Al," he answered carefully.  "It kinda makes me
nervous, too, thinking a man who loves 'this body' is going to be walking
in that door, but you can't associate your fear as an adolescent with
what's going on now."  Sam was feeling incredibly weary.  "I need you,
Al.  Stanley needs you.  What if this thing should , and Stanley dies
with me still here?"

"It's gonna be okay, Sam.  You're not going to die.  We'll come up with
something."

Jean appeared and wheeled Sam back to his bed.  Al continued.  "In twenty-
four hours this will all be over, one way or the other.  Somebody up there
likes us, Sam.  Keep remembering that.  If Richard shows up, keep him
talking, do what you have to do, and we'll play it by ear until I can get
more information from Ziggy."

The nurse tucked Sam in and dimmed the lights.  She said her good nights and
left the room.  Al was still there, his face creased in concern for his
friend in the bed.

"I can't stay much longer," Al said sincerely. "I'll be back before the night
is out, but..."

"Which one, Al?"  Sam turned over onto his side.  "Tina?  Or someone new?
Suzy, Sally, or maybe Brenda?"

"Unfortunately, none of the above."  Al sighed. "Stanley.  I want to talk
with him.  He's scared and I've been...Uncle Charlieing him too long.  I'll
see what I can find out about Richard."

***************

The lonesome feeling hit the moment Al left.  His only connection with his
world had disappeared.   He slept somewhat fitfully for a few hours before
he woke up, coughing.  The spasms racked him until he felt drained of
energy simply from fighting the battle for air.  He gripped the response
button and called for the nurse.  Where was Richard?  What if he didn't come?
Would the pain ever end?

*****************

They had him on oxygen, a thin trickle of air that made his breathing slightly
easier. He refused painkillers or drugs to make him sleep.  If Richard should
show up, he had to be alert to speak to him.  The oxygen cannula made his
nose itch, his lungs feeling constricted and uncomfortable.  His throat
was raw from throwing up twice from the retching cough.

It was dead of night--nearly three am--and his fear was complete.

Alone.  Not even a sign of Al.  The silence of the hospital was deafening,
without the sound of people walking in the corridors.  He kept the call
button in his hand like a talisman against the fear.  The doctor had
spoken in hushed tones to the nurse, his face very grave.

His breathing was labored, a horrible animal sound to his ears.  He was 
losing the battle for air--for life.

"I'm back, Sam."

His eyes locked on Al's sympathetic face.  "It's good to see you.  How
much longer?"  The hologram's expressin mirrored the dishevelment of his
appearance; his tie hung loosely around the opened neck of his shirt, his
jacket was discarded and his shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow.

"Soon," Al answered quietly.  He tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned
back on his heels.  "I had a three hour conversation with Stanley.  He's 
not scared of dying.  The only thing that really bothers him is dying in
this place."  Uneasily, Al swept a hand to indicate the sterile surroundings
of the hospital room.

"You told him he was going to die?"

"He already knew," Al answered simply.

Another coughing spell overtook Sam.  It took every ounce of perseverance
and tolerance to make his way through it without gagging or calling the
nurse.

"Sam..."

The younger man's eyes were frightened as he lay back on the pillows.  "What
if everything goes wrong?  I'm stuck here and I...I, Al, I die?"  He was
letting the fear rule him again.  If he could've taken big gulps of air
to clear his head he would have.  "This Richard.  I don't even know what
he looks like."

"Can you open up the drawer in the bedside table there?"  Al asked.

"Barely."  Sam opened the drawer and saw a box of tissues and a small
blue wallet, next to the mirror.  Obviously, the only thing Al could have
meant him to grab was the wallet.

There was one photograph in the billfold, beside the miscellaneous credit
cards and drivers license. The photo gave him an idea of what Stanley had
looked like before disease had ravaged his body.  He looked like an athelete,
tanned, and smiling.  Standing next to him was a younger man, the eyes 
haunted, the mouth placed in a casual smile, as if preoccupied.

"Stan told me to tell you that the phot wasn't taken under the bestof
circumstances and that Richard isn't much into having them taken.  What
do you think?"

There wasn't much to think.  He was a young, handsome man.  His light
brown hair hung over his eyes.  "He looks like a pretty nice guy," Sam
said, laying the wallet on the table top.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the small mirror.  If anything the
face looked even more gaunt than earlier.  "I'm sorry you have to see me
like this, Al."

"I'm sorry, too, Sam."  Al remained cool and calm.  "But, I'm pretty much
here for the duration.  I couldn't let you down now.  If this Richard shows
up I want to be here to offer at least moral support.  I'm not leaving you,"
he said.  His voice, though decisive, held a slight tremor.

"You're as scared as I am," Sam said softly, eyes widening with the reaCrealization. 

"Of course, I'm scared."  Al was staring out the window.  "When you started
all of this leaping business, I sort of took it in stride.  I'm not one to
stay friends with people for long.  No one ever took me seriously in quite
the way you have, Sam.  I don't want to lose you."  

"You're the only thing that has kept me going, Al.  If it weren't for
you...I don't think I would have stayed sane.  If I do die, I want you to
know...


"None of that mushy stuff, okay?"  Al said, looking down at Sam.  "You're not
going to die, right?"  He nodded firmly.  "I'm not leaving until you Leap."

The night dragged on.  Three a.m.  Four a.m.  Al kept his vigil through the
nurses' sporadic visits.  With the hologram there, Sam allowed himself to
doze.  He could depend on Al to watch over him.

"Sam, Richard is in the hospital."

His eyes snapped open, all senses alerted.  "Where, Al?"

"On his way up."

The door opened to reveal Richard.  He looked rumpled, as if he'd been running.
He didn't resemble the photograph as much as Sam had thought he would.  An
overgrown beard covered his chin, and his eyes were wide and scared.

"Richard?"  Sam's voice cracked as he said the name.

Richard's eyes widened as if in amazement that the husk on the bed could 
speak.  "I called every day," he said, his voice hoarse with unshed tears.
Moving toward the bed, he stepped through Al.  Sam felt his fingers gripped
tightly.  "I know you told me to stay away and I tried.  But when they
called tonight, I..."

"Ask him why he's here, Sam," Al urged.

"Why are you here now?"  Sam asked Richard, wishing desperatly that he could
breathe easier, or get himself out of bed.

"I wanted to be with you."   Richard was crying, tears rolling down his
narrow cheeks and disappearing into his beard.  "Your nurse, Jean, said
you were really bad off.  I didn't want you to die alone.  I'm sorry
about the arguement.  It was stupid."


Sam let his gaze drift to Al's as Richard continued. "I came here to be 
with you, no matter what."  Richard pulled a chair up and lowered his 
lanky form onto it, still keeping a deathgrip on Sam's hand.  "I thought
you'd be too out of it to argue with me, not like the last time.  I love
you."

Sam let the words sink in.  Maybe he was here to let Stanley die--but not
alone.  It had bothered him that Al saw him so sick.  Maybe it had bothered
Stanley, too--so much that he deprived them both of the comfort of
shared sorrow.  "I'm sorry I kept you away. I just didn't want yoiu to
remember me like this."

Al interrupted.  "Stan doesn't want to die in this room.  Maybe that's it.
See if you can get Richard to get you out of here."

Sam took a deep breath.  "I hate being here."

"I'm sorry, Stan, if there was anything I could do..."

"Take me someplace.  Any place."

"I can't do that.  It's impossible."

"Not impossible."  Sam used what energy he had left to sit up and grip 
Richard's shoulder.

"I ...can't."  Richard shook his head.  "No.  You're too sick--you'd die
if we..."

"I'm going to die, Richard.  Just not here.  I can't..breathe.  They've 
got me on oxygen, the next thing is life support.  Then I'll never get
away.  I don't want to be a vegetable, held here by a machine."

Richard was shaking, scared, glancing at the door to the room as if
wishing for an escape, or maybe worried that someone might come. He
hadn't been here for a long time, hadn't seen the degeneration that had
come on so quickly.  "I can't do this, Stan. We could get arrested,or you
could die in the car.  You're so sick."

"Please, Richard.  Just get me the hell out of here."  There wasn't much
force in his voice, but the expression on his face was eloquent.

"You're really serious," Richard wavered, undecided. He paced around the
room, nervously.  Spotting the photo in the open wallet on the table, he
stopped and picked it up.  Looking from the wallet to Stanley laying on
the bed, his expression changed.

"I'll get your coat," he said.

With great difficulty, Richard managed to maneuver Sam into a wheelchair and
out of the door of his room.  Since the nurses station and halls were
practically deserted this time of night/early morning, they managed to
reach the elevators undetected.

Al followed them, anxiously keeping watch.  Sam, who was having a great deal
of trouble keeping his eyes open, kept nodding off.  "You've got to 
stay with it, Sam," the Observer insisted, drawing him back to his 
surroundings.

With an effort, Sam tilted his head back to look into Richard's worried
gaze.  "Don't worry," Sam managed.  "We'll make it."

"Sam--guards!"  Al warned.

Al's urgent words made Sam's stomach lurch. He heard their footsteps just
in front of them, cutting them off from the front exit.  "All right,
alternative plan, Richard."

"You used to call me Rich."

"Rich--we need to take a different exit."  He sagged in the chair, feeling
the sweat pop out on his forehead.  They made an abrupt about face and went
down the corridor the other way, a back exit.

"This is how I got in that first night--Remember?"

It must be a special memory, but, of course, Sam had no knowledge of it.
Al did, however, making a face.  "Don't ask, Sam.  You don't want to know,
trust me.  Ziggy says your odds are increasing-this must be the right way
to go."

They made it to the parking lot unscathed.  Richard had a little trouble
getting Sam settled in the front seat of the small hatchback, but he 
managed.  He was chewing on his lip as he started the car and roared out
of the lot.

"Scared?" Sam asked.  Al was in the backseat, leaning forward.

"I can't believe I'm doing this, Stan.  The things I do for you."

Sam felt his heart racing after the excitement of the escape, and
leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes.  It was so hard to breathe.
He had to hold on, he thought .... for a while longer.

"Hang in there, Sam." Al
Al's words were encouraging.  "You're doing okay.  I'm trying to pin this
down.  Stan lived by the beach, Venice, I think..."

"Venice Beach," Sam muttered, echoing Al's words, eyes fluttering shut,
weighed with exhaustion.

"The beach, Stan?" Richard glanced at him for a moment, taking his eye soff
the street and back again.  "Is that where you want to go?"

"Yeah...the beach."

Sam drifted in and out of consciousness during the twenty minutes it took
them to reach a deserted spot and park the car.  He felt a little of the
world slipping away each second, a whitish mist closing in.  Leaning heavily
against Richard, they made their way down to the sand.  Once there, he 
collapsed, holding Richard's hand, gazing out at the breakers as they
came in.  The pain was leaving him.

Richard curled his arm around Sam's back.  Secure in his embrace, Sam leaned
against him gratefully as the other man spoke. "I'm going to fight this
disease, Stanley. I'm not going to let it take anybody else. I'm going to
do it for you."

Sam nodded, his eyes closing despite his intentions.  What would Stanley
say?  "That would be the best memorial you could give me," he answered.

"Sam, you've done it."  Al's voice seemed to come from far away.  "Watching
Stan die changed Richard. In the next five years he's going to lead a drive
to accelerate the AIDS research program in this country.  New drugs to 
combat AIDS are going to be approved by the FDA and lives are going to
be prolonged.  Still no cure," he said, regret coloring his voice, "but 
they're closer than they were."

Sam felt a distant joy at the news, but it seemed far removed, somehow.  The
only things in this world that truly touched him was the cadence of Al's
voice and the arms holding him gently.

Al crounched next to Sam, who, sensing his closeness, opened his eyes to
meet his friends gaze.  "Richard dies five years from now.  AIDS.  He does
a lot of good though, before..."

"No," Sam moaned in sincere protest.

"What is it, Stan?" Richard asked, looking down into his eyes.  "Does it
hurt?"

Sam saw the pure love on the face before him.   "No," he said, honestly
answering the only question he could.  "Not anymore."

Richard's smile was bittersweet.  "I love you, Stanley." Gently, he
kissed his dying friend's lips.  Sam felt the sensation for the briefest
of moments, strange, but not unlike other similar embraces, other times.
It was pure, and it was love.  Then, he leaped....

July.

110 degrees in the shade.

Sam glanced down at the white uniform. In his hand he held an ice cream
scoop--raspberry ripple??  Loud, annoying calliope music seemed to 
surround him--and yelling, no , clamoring, no screaming....KIDS!!!!

"Oh Boy."

end
-- 
"Unscrupulous--but effective!"  Al in "Starcrossed"
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu  Assistant Sysop
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI