Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 16:53:30 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: Whale ch 33 Message-ID: Chapter 33 Albert Calavicci, fifty-six years old, had gone out for his daily exercise - a simple jog around the block a couple of times. But the jog did nothing to clear his mind of the images that plagued him since he found himself staring up at Sam in the men's room: images of Vietnam, Beth, Trudy, his father, his mother, Chip Ferguson, Lisa Sherman... every terrible thing that had ever happened to him and hadn't happened to him but felt some how all too much like they had. He knew Lisa Sherman hadn't died; she was living in Annapolis with her second husband. Yet he could still see her car crashing into a semi-truck and catching fire, burning her slowly to death. Gawd, he could almost feel the fire itself burning him but not killing him. The pain went on and on, never stopping, never easing. Never giving him a chance to breath. But there was no pain. There never had been and he knew it. It was a trick on his mind, driving him towards what he had done: telling his captors everything and anything they wanted. It was something for which he doubted he'd ever forgive himself. As he finished his second lap around the block, he caught the sight of the man standing on the other side of the street, waiting patiently. He ran across the street to him almost by instinct; he just knew he had to. Someone or something commanded it of him. Yet commanded was too strong a word for the sensation. It was more of a strong urging with the promise of peace. *Peace.* The thought had great appeal to Al. It was exactly what he wanted, more than anything in the world. He'd give his life for it, a price he knew he wouldn't have to give. A price he knew was no wanted. Stopping in front of the man, he took a couple of deep breaths to let his heart slow back down to its regular rate. "What are you doing here? I thought you would have one home by now." Sam smiled slightly at Al's words, fully aware that Al had no idea that home was still just a dream for him. How would he know the Retrieval Program doesn't work like he and Al had discussed last week? "There are a few things I still need to take care of," Sam told him, unsure exactly what those things were. "Then what are you doing here?" Al repeated the question he had asked before, this time with much less confusion and with more curiosity. Sam blinked a couple of times. "I don't know. I just knew I needed to be here. Now." "Why?" Al questioned. "Surely you have to have some idea. I mean, this whole conversation is courtesy of your project, isn't it?" Sam smiled at him slightly. "You could say that." He took a small breath. "Al, are you okay? Really okay?" "I'm fine," he assured. "No problems." Sam looked into his friend's eyes and instantly saw the lie. He shook his head. "Al, this is me you're talking to. You know I can tell when you're lying. Unlike him, though," he motioned towards the hotel in which he knew his younger self was taking a well- deserved rest, "I'm not going to let it slide by. It's far too important. You're far too important." Al frowned at his words. He didn't like them; they frightened him greatly. They reminded him of the pain - the horrible pain he was trying so hard not to show the world. That man, the one who had taken such pleasure in torturing him, had spoken about him as if he knew him, as if Al should know him in return. If the cost of being important to anyone was being tortured like that, he didn't want it. He didn't want any of it. "I've got to go," Al told Sam quickly and turned to leave. Sam stopped him gently, placing his hand on his shoulder. "I want to take your pain away, Al." Al froze. *He can't possibly know. He can't possibly see what I see behind my eyes.* Nonetheless, he slowly turned around and looked at Sam. "What do you mean?" Sam didn't say anything for a moment. "I know what they did to you, Al, and I know it will haunt you the rest of your life...." A frightened look crossed his face. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He had hoped the feeling he had yesterday was just his paranoia but he suddenly knew it wasn't. "No," he whispered, unaware of Al's presence at that moment. All he knew was that something horrible happened involving a friend and several bottles of alcohol. He couldn't explain why he knew; he just knew. Al frowned with concern at the look on Sam's face. He touched Sam's shoulder gently. "Sam?" he questioned. Sam looked at him quickly, causing the Admiral to step back slightly. "You okay?" Al questioned. Sam took a breath. "Al, will you let me help you? Will you let me take your pain away?" Al took another step back. Sam could see he was frightened. He was shaking his head with disbelief. "You can't possibly know what they did, Sam. You can't, not without having gone through it yourself." He hesitated, frightened by the possible answer to his next question. "Have you?" Sam shook his head. "No," he answered truthfully. Al exhaled in relief. "Thank, gawd!" "But I've seen what it has done to you," Sam continued. "And to others." Al looked at him with shock. "Others?" he questioned in a whisper. Sam nodded. Al's breath became shaky and he quivered slightly, on the verge of collapsing. Sam reached out to prevent him from doing so, holding his arms firmly enough to keep the older man standing upright yet gently enough as not to make Al feel in anyway threatened. "Al, let me help you. Please." "What about the... others?" Al questioned quietly. Sam exhaled in sorrow. "I can't help them. But I can help you, Al. If you let me." Al took a couple of breaths before nodding. "Get rid of these thoughts, Sam. Get rid of them before they drive me crazy." He looked at Sam with question. "You think this Dr. Beeks you know can help?" Sam hesitated a moment, suddenly reminded of why he was really doing this: for Al, for Verbina, and especially for an eight year old boy who should never have existed. "I think she can be of some help, but I don't think it's a good idea to put all your trust into her. That could lead to the kind of dependency that only hurts in the long run." "Then what?" Al whispered as another flash of images filled his mind almost painfully. Sam released Al slowly. "Do you trust me?" "With my life," Al replied readily. Sam winced internally at Al's choice of words. "Come with me," he instructed. Al raised an eyebrow but obeyed the firm instruction. The two walked to a nearby park where a beautiful woman, about fifty-three years of age, sat on a park bench, waiting for someone or something to happen. Sam led Al over to her but stopped him from following when they were a few feet away. "She's a little nervous about this," Sam told him gently before leaving his side and sitting beside her with a smile. "Hi, Dawn," he said gently. She smiled back at him. "You came back. Just as you said. Is your friend here?" Sam nodded slightly. He motioned his head towards Al to show where the friend was. Dawn looked at Al with question. "He went through it too?" she questioned quietly. Sam nodded again. "He needs your help, Dawn. They were far worse on him than they were on you. He needs someone who will listen to him and believe him, if only until he returns home." Dawn nodded slightly. She looked at Al and smiled gently at him, inviting him to come closer and to sit beside her as Sam stood up. Al looked extremely uncertain about the whole situation. He didn't even know who this woman was, much less how this was going to help the images to leave him alone in peace. "Al," Sam told him. "This is Dawn London. She was in the same place you were." Al looked at Sam with disbelief and then at Dawn. Dawn nodded with a sad smile. "It took me a long time to recover from what they did to me. I didn't have anyone to talk to. When your friend told me about you, at first I thought it was a sick joke but he convinced me that he was telling the truth. They hurt you too?" "They?" Al questioned, still unsure. "Thames and Zoe," Dawn told him gently. Al stood up quickly and took a step back, his breathing suddenly labored again. Sam gently sat him down again beside Dawn, a sad smile on his face. Dawn nodded with understanding. "It's okay. I understand. And I will listen to you, to everything you need to say to chase away the nightmares." Al lowered his head, realizing that this woman, this Dawn London, wasn't playing with him. He then looked at Sam and at the gently smile on his friend's face. "You think this is going to work?" he asked softly. Sam looked to his right and smiled widely with apparent joy. He then looked to Al and nodded. "It'll work. Trust me." Al returned the smile and waited until Sam had left him and Dawn alone talking on the park bench. Sam walked without looking back at the scene, his focus on the image on his left. "So, it worked," he said to the man who walked beside him, handlink in hand. The hologram's walk was a little slow and a little pained but it was sure and confident. "The talk with Dawn?" Al questioned slightly. "Yeah. It let me know I wasn't alone and it helped me to forget it. At least until we found out who had done those things to me and Dawn. How the hell did you find her, Sam?" Sam shrugged. "Luck, I guess." He didn't want to tell him that Verbina had told him where she was and who she was - Dawn Taylor, the woman Alia had leaped into during that fateful reunion leap in 1956. "You going to be okay?" Al looked at him with assurance. "Oh, yeah. Tina's going to wash my back tonight." He gave his friend a lecherous little smile that told they had some other plans other than that. Sam shook his head, thankful for the innuendo to assure him that history was indeed back on course. "Just be careful. Okay, Al? That kind of activity can't be good for your ribs." "There are other ways, you know, Sam," Al told him. Sam laughed... and vanished in a haze of blue electricity. Pain. So much horrible pain. So many horrible memories flooding her mind, ordering her to submit. And she did. This time she had no choice. She couldn't fight this time. She screamed almost immediately as it filled her and possessed her like a demon. No more mistakes. No more failures. No more chances. They were all gone and now, if she was lucky, they would kill her. She begged that they would kill her and let the images in her mind fade. And then there would finally be peace. The End Katherine Freymuth Copyright 1998