From: "M. Cogburn" Date: Fri, 4 Dec 1998 22:20:08 -0600 Subject: Portraits Of The Past, Part 3 Chapter Three Sam watched reluctantly as Margaret quickly walked out of the choir room. He had wanted to apologize further; to let her know he was truly sorry that he had embarrassed and humiliated her. His gut told him to go after her, yet he stayed his ground. He knew that she needed time. Sam slowly walked to his locker on Senior Hall. Al followed him as he tried to get more information about Margaret. "Do you have anymore data on Margaret?" "Not too much more than what I've told you. She lives by herself not to far from here, but that's all we got." Al hit the handlink for good measure hoping it wouldn't get jammed again and sighed. "That's all? Just once I wish that Ziggy would have everything ready the moment I leap into somebody. It sure would have helped this morning." He opened Jason's locker and placed his books inside. "Well, what does Ziggy say I should do? She's not going to trust me again." "You mean Jason." "Me." He shut the locker then turned to Al. "Did you see how fast she left this afternoon? She hates me . . . me." He had never felt hated before; maybe disliked at times, but never hated. He made it a point never to intentionally hurt those around him. It made his stomach tie in a knot just thinking about it. "Jason!" A feminine voice called. Sam turned hoping it would be Margaret only to see Mrs. Stacey approaching. She smiled brightly as she came to him. "I'm glad I found you before you left. I would like for you and Margaret to practice on your parts this week. We will be working hard to get the show together, so you'll need to get your parts memorized. Could you pass the information to Margaret for me? I missed her." "Yes ma'am. I'll tell her when I see her tonight." Sam responded remembering Al had said that the group meeting met on Monday night. "Oh, are you two dating?" Mrs. Stacey's face brightened at the idea. She thought they would make a cute couple. "No, tonight is the night we have the group meetings on how to cope with the loss of loved ones." Mrs. Stacey nodded understanding. She smiled empathetically and laid her hand on his arm slightly. "How are you doing, really?" Her eyes gazed intently into his looking for the answer. Sam thought for a moment as he dropped his gaze. "I'm coping." "You do know that if you need an ear to listen, I'm here. Always." Mrs. Stacey acted as if she was leaving but stopped. "And it doesn't have to be anything about Ryan. It could be about anyone." Sam looked up at her with a nod understanding exactly what she was talking about. "Uh . . . thanks, Mrs. Stacey." She smiled a 'your welcome,' patted his arm then left him standing at his locker. Sam leaned against the locker looking at Al. Al gazed back as he shook his head. His gaze went to the handlink. He glanced back up at Sam only to notice his gaze had not changed. "What?" Al asked insecurely. "Do I have broccoli in my teeth or something?" Sam grinned. "No. Just wondering where to go from here." "What do you mean, where you should go from here? You go home." Sam slightly nodded with pursed lips. "And how should I do that?" He asked with a creased brow. "Sam . . ." Al began to condescend his friend only to realize where the conversation was heading. "Follow me." Consulting Ziggy, Al spun on his heel and together they walked down Senior Hall to the exit. They walked in silence to the car -- Leaper following hologram. Once at the car, Al gave Sam the directions to Jason's house, then gave Sam an excuse to leave so he could grudge up more on Margaret's upcoming death. Sam drove to Jason's house at a lingering pace. His mind was twisting and turning on the reasons that could possibly lead to Margaret's death. He reached Jason's house and sighed as he stopped the car. He was entering new territory yet again. He bounded up the slope of the drive and went to the door wondering what Jason's home life was like. He opened the door and found an older woman with graying brown hair on the couch watching television. He glanced around the room. The living room that had a country decor, was tidy, and every picture and knick-knack faced the entry-way for the best possible view. "Jason, you're home early." She remarked as she glanced at the clock over the television that read four o'clock. "Where's Jessica?" She made a distasteful face that he could plainly see as she picked up the remote control to change the channel. "At school, I suppose. We broke up today, I think." He sat down beside her on the couch. He looked in her warm blue eyes and felt immediately comfortable with her. It was a familiar feeling - a feeling that he felt with his own mother. "Oh honey." Sam could see the instant concern and relief in her eyes. "Are you all right?" She placed an arm around his back and gave him a partial hug. "What happened?" She quickly turned off the television so she could listen to him intently. "Yeah, I'm fine, mom." Sam smiled slightly. He remembered how his mom could raise his spirits by just a smile or a hug. This was no different. "This morning, Jessica gave me a choice to either commit to her or to take a dare." "A dare, huh? What kind of dare?" His mother's eyebrow rose curiously. She recalled the dares her friends had given her. All dares were innocent and playful. Yet, she knew that this wasn't her childhood, but his. Kid's life's were a little different than her's when she was a teen, but still they had the same problems. Peer pressure. 'Were dares still innocent,' she wondered. "Something I shouldn't have done in front of the whole school." Sam left it as that. He stood to leave but she grabbed his hand to stop him from moving to far away. Understanding that he didn't want to talk about it; she changed the subject entirely. "Are you doing anything tonight? Kathy, Dad and I are going to the movies. You can join us if you like." "Thanks, but I can't. I have to go to that meeting and then go over to Margaret's house to practice on the play." Jason's mother let go of his hand and he swayed it gingerly at his side. "Margaret? Margaret Dawson?" Sam nodded. "She's such a sweet girl. Remember when she brought you a get well present when you broke your leg? A real polite girl, too, not at all like Jessica." Jason's mother looked back at the blank television screen trying not to show her dislike in Jessica, but it was all too apparent. "What do you mean by that?" Sam asked confused as his eyebrows knitted together. "We've been through this before." She looked down at her hands as she fiddled with them. "I don't think Jessica cares about anyone but herself. I think she only went out with you to become popular." Mrs. Hughes glanced back at Sam. "I want girls to like you for the person inside, not the package on the outside." Sam grinned, 'if you only knew'. Nevertheless, Sam agreed with the adage and was about to respond when she said, "I love you, and I only want the best for you. So, please, don't get upset with me." Sam leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Okay, mom. I love you, too." He then started to go down the hall toward Jason's room. Mrs. Hughes, however, sat back stunned that they hadn't gotten into another fight over Jessica as they usually had. She smiled as she finally realized that her last baby boy was growing up into a very intelligent young man. Jason's room was at the far end of the house. Sam opened the door surprised to find a neat room. Two dressers, one with a television on top, a bed, and a desk with a computer on it, were the only furniture in the room. A Budweiser poster with women in bathing suits, a woman in a wet T-shirt contest, and two women washing a red Ferrari in short shorts and bikini tops were up on the walls across from each other. He shook his head and thought of Al. 'This is probably what's in Al's living area,' Sam mused to himself. He went to the bed and fell face down on it. He bounced a few times then came to a rest. He laid his head down on his arms and tried to relax. It had been a hard trying day and it still wasn't over. He just wanted it to end and be done with. He groaned then sighed loudly. "No wonder your brain is swiss-cheesed." Sam turned quickly to see a young girl in her early teens standing in the doorway. She had brown hair, hazel eyes, a straight nose and a wonderful smile. "Kathy?" He asked as he remembered what Mrs. Hughes said about who was going to the movies. She shook her head and came into the room. "Mom has a huge silly grin on her face. Either you broke up with Jessica or you won the Nobel Prize." Kathy smiled as she sat down on the bed. "Both." Sam replied as he remembered winning the Nobel Prize in 1988, seven years earlier. "Oh get real! You broke up with Jessica? And this close to prom? My God, why would you do such a thing?" Kathy seemed to act like the other teens at the school who had asked him approximately the same questions. Sam tried to think of what Jason -- an eighteen year old would say. "Is my life that interesting to you?" He sat up on the bed and gazed into her face. He was sure that she would be gorgeous when she grew up. "Hasn't it always been? You and Days Of Our Lives." She slugged him on the arm. "Come on, give. Why?" "Well . . ." Sam wasn't sure why he had ruined the relationship. He wasn't sure what to say about it either. And he definitely didn't want to tell her exactly how he broke up the relationship. "I . . ." he started. "Tell her that it was the way she always questioned him about his life. That should shut her up." Al stood before Sam giving him a start. Al's gaze fixed on the nearest poster. He walked slowly to the Budweiser poster and gazed upon it intently -- trying to soak it in. "Well, it's because she always asked me questions about my personal life." "Oh, I see." Kathy stood irritated, frowned and started toward the door. "You . . .you are just making it so hard for me to look up to you." Sam followed her to the door and said, "Yeah, well, it'll be easier when you're older." Kathy stuck out her tongue as he closed the door. He then turned and leaned back against the door. Sam looked expectantly at Al -- hoping he had something else to go on. "So?" "Oh boy." Al said with lust filling his voice. He glanced back to Sam then back to the poster. "Have you made it to their faces yet?" "No. I'm savoring their profile first, but eventually . . ." "Al." Al made himself look away from the poster so he could face Sam. "Well, we found out that Margaret commits suicide. The police don't know exactly what happened, but they found her in the kitchen with the knife she used to slit not her wrists, but her whole lower arm -- wrist to elbow." "Oh no." 'Even though she had lost her family, she had to have something to live for; something to look forward to,' he thought to himself. Suicide. The word itself stuck him hard. He couldn't understand some things and suicide was one of them. Sam crossed over to the bed and sat placing his head in his hands. They had to know more on Margaret - had to. "Are you sure?" Al made himself look back at the poster. They had found something else about Margaret's family but he didn't know if Sam could remember. When Sam didn't get an answer, he looked up to see Al as he fiddled with the handlink turning it side to side. "Al, what is it?" "Oh nothing really. It's just about a family member . . ." Al said as if it wasn't important. "What? Is someone else going to die, what?" Sam knew Al was keeping something from him. "Al?" Al grimaced. The handlink squealed almost making Al drop it from the surprise squawk. "Ziggy thinks you should know." Sam's eyebrows rose expectantly. "Do you remember Maggie . . . Maggie Dawson?" For the first time, he remembered -- he remembered it all. He had leapt into a Navy Seal Officer nicknamed Magic in 1970. He found himself in Vietnam with his brother, Thomas, who was leading the SEAL Bravo Squadron on a mission to save American POW's captured by the Vietnamese. At first he thought that he was there to save Thomas from dying, but he was really there to save the POW's. It was then that Maggie Dawson appeared on the scene with papers signed by Westmoreland himself. Maggie Dawson was a famous, tough, photojournalist who had been through three wars and five insurrections, night patrol with the Marines, in a tank with the Israelis, and flew a bombing raid over Hai Phong. He remembered Maggie telling him that she would give her soul for a Pulitzer Prize. He remembered her face; soft baby blue eyes; a petite nose and warm kissable lips. He remembered the military bunker and how she had felt under him as they melted together in a pile of sweat. Then, he remembered what had happened to her. She had "persuaded" Sam to convince Tom that there was something magical about her and that she should accompany them on Operation Lazarus. His thinking was that she would write the story about Operation Lazarus and then Al would be able to pull the story up and tell them what to do to make the mission a success. But, there was no story. She died when she was running along the path and set off a booby trap. Moments before, Maggie had photographed a group of American POWs being led through the jungle. One of the pictures revealed that one of the POWs was Al. He felt responsible for her death and for the three POWs left behind even though they were repatriated a few years later. He remembered and the blood drained from his face as he looked up at Al. "Maggie was Margaret's aunt."