From: krk1@pyuxe.cc.bellcore.com (knights,katriena r) Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: The Sins of the Father - PART I Message-Id: <1993Apr23.200713.28452@porthos.cc.bellcore.com> Date: 23 Apr 93 20:07:13 GMT Sender: netnews@porthos.cc.bellcore.com (USENET System Software) Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ Lines: 642 THE SINS OF THE FATHER by Katriena Knights PART I "Laura?" Sam could barely hear the man's voice coming from behind him. "Laura?" The sparkle and buzz of the leap faded, and Sam realized the voice was speaking to him. He blinked, clearing the blur in his vision, and looked down. He was standing at a kitchen counter with a knife in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. He appeared to be in the process of making a peanut butter sandwich. _Not a woman_, he thought. _Please, not a woman_. But it was unlikely he was a man if his name was Laura. At least he wasn't wearing panty hose or heels. A hand closed on his shoulder and the man spoke again. "Laura, I'm talking to you." Sam turned and found himself looking at a point about three inches below the knot in the man's tie. He looked up. And up. The man was huge, approaching seven feet and with a muscular bulk that would have made two and a half of Sam. His hand on Sam's shoulder was huge. "I'm sorry," said Sam. "I didn't hear you. I was just . . . drifting for a minute." "Well, you'd better stop drifting and finish making Kelly's lunch, or she's going to be late for school." "Right. Yeah, right." Sam finished the peanut butter sandwich. "Mom?" asked a small voice. "Can I have extra jelly?" The man took his hand from Sam's shoulder and turned to the girl. "You'll take what your mom gives you, and you'll like it." "Yes, sir." Sam turned to look at Kelly. She was ten or twelve, blonde, and pretty. "I'll put some extra jelly on," he said. "Don't spoil her, Laura," the man said as Sam slathered strawberry preserves on the bread. "It's just a little jelly . . ." The man frowned. "Right. This time." He looked at his watch. "I'm running late. I need you to pick up my shirts at the cleaners. Can you manage that?" "Sure. No problem." "Don't forget." "I won't." The man picked up an overcoat off the back of a kitchen chair and put it on. "All right, then. I'll call you later." He bent and gave Sam a brusque kiss on the mouth. "Yeah," said Sam, a little jarred. "Have a good day." He watched the man plow through the front door, his broad shoulders set. Laura's husband was huge. Sam felt a trembling of unease. Something was wrong here. "Mom?" said Kelly. Sam jerked his attention to the little girl. "What's the matter, Kelly?" "Nothing," said Kelly quietly. "I just need to get my lunch box so I won't miss the bus." "Oh. Oh, right, sure." Sam hastily stuffed the peanut butter sandwich into the plastic Barbie lunch box on the counter and handed the box to Kelly. "You ate all your breakfast?" "Yes, Mom." "Okay. Have a good day." "Thanks, Mom." Kelly headed out. She seemed subdued, maybe worried. Sam frowned, wondering. As the door closed behind her, he finally succumbed to the desire to wipe his mouth off with the back of his hand. He'd leaped into women before, but he'd never actually had a man kiss him. At least it had only been a good-bye peck. "Cute kid." Sam jumped, startled, and turned to see Al standing next to the table, lighting a cigar. He was wearing a hot pink jacket with black paisley lining, matching pants, black shoes and a white shirt with enough decorative buttons to make a tie superfluous. Sam stared, then blinked off a chartreuse after-image. "Where in the hell do you get those clothes?" "What, this?" Al asked. "This was a birthday present from Tina. And this . . ." He lifted one lapel, showing Sam an even brighter pink neon pin. "This is from Dr. Beeks. And the socks are from Gushie." He pulled up his pant legs to display a pair of bright gold socks. "Are you trying to tell me today's your birthday?" "Well, yesterday was my birthday, but you weren't really around yesterday." "Happy birthday," Sam said. "Well, thank you, Sam." "So, uh, how old are you?" Sam ventured. Al pulled the handlink out of his pocket and gave Sam a sidelong look. "Older than you." He poked at the brightly coloured instrument that connected him to the project's main computer. "Let's see what Ziggy's got." Sam nodded and sat down at the table. Kelly had left the carton of milk on the table. There was a clean bowl sitting next to it. Sam filled the bowl with cereal and added milk. "Okay," said Al. "It's August 19, 1989, and you're in Calwell, Massachusetts. That's about an hour from Boston. You're Laura Cole, and you're a thirty-two year old house." He stopped. Sam lifted an eyebrow. Al, realizing what he'd said, smacked the handlink. "Housewife. Your daughter's name is Kelly, she's eleven, and your husband is Michael. Have you met him yet?" Sam grimaced around a mouthful of cereal. "Yeah." "What's the matter? You don't like him already?" "I don't know. He was . . . well, I think he was just in a hurry. What do you have on him?" "Not much. He's thirty-six, he's a doctor. His name's Michael Cole. He and Laura have been married twelve years. That's about it so far." "Any idea why I'm here?" "Not yet. Ziggy should have something in a few hours. I'll get back to you as soon as I know." "Great. Look, Al, see if you can rush this, okay?" Al looked concerned. "What's wrong, Sam? You look upset." "I don't know. There's just something about this leap that feels really weird." "Weird like how?" Sam threw his spoon down on the table. "Weird like I just got kissed on the mouth by a man, okay? Can you please just get me the hell out of here? Soon?" "Oh." Al said. "Well. I guess I see what you mean." He poked the handlink and the Imaging Chamber door slid open behind him. "I'll get Ziggy on this right away. Don't worry, Sam. We'll get you out of here before . . . anything weird happens." "Yeah. Thanks. I'd really appreciate that." Sam finished his breakfast and cleaned up the table, then wondered what he was supposed to do for the rest of the day. Catching sight of a blurred reflection in the toaster, he decided to find out what he looked like this time around. >From the layout of the house, Sam guessed that the bathroom was upstairs. He went up the wide staircase, which led to a balcony. Four doors opened on to the balcony. Three were bedrooms, and the last one Sam opened was, predictably, the one he was looking for. The bathroom mirror showed him a petite blonde woman with grey eyes. Laura was pretty, but her face carried more lines than Sam would have expected on a thirty-two-year-old woman. The short- sleeved blouse she had on looked old, and too big for her. Turning to look at himself in profile, Sam noticed something on his arm. He automatically looked down, but of course the mark was not there. It only existed on Laura's aura. Therefore he could only see it in the mirror. He stepped closer to the mirror, turning his arm. There was a dark mark on the inside of Laura's upper arm, about the size of a large thumbprint. Turning, Sam looked at the other arm. It bore a matching mark in roughly the same place. Sam frowned. Any number of things could have caused the bruises, but the sight of them made him uneasy. He went into the bedroom to change clothes. The claim ticket for Michael's shirts was on the dresser next to a set of car keys. Sam picked them up. He could use the phone book to figure out where the place was. They would be open in half an hour. Feeling more comfortable in a short-sleeved cotton sweater and jeans, Sam dug his way through the phone book to the maps, then set off to claim Michael's shirts. But, at the counter, the young man handed the ticket back to him. "These aren't done yet." "Not done?" Sam repeated. "I thought they were supposed to be back today." "They were, but we had two people call in sick yesterday. I'll have them for you tomorrow. I hope that's not going to be a problem." Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so." "I'll give you a discount. Here, let me write it on the ticket." Sam surrendered the claim ticket again. The young man wrote "10% Off" on the back of it. "I'm sorry, Ma'am," he said. "No problem," said Sam. He went back to the car and found his way home. **** He spent the rest of the morning cleaning the house. It was not particularly dirty, but he found the activity more entertaining than daytime television. At noon, while he was dusting the living room, the phone rang. "Hello?" "It's me." It took Sam a moment to register the voice as Michael's. "Did you pick up my shirts?" "They weren't ready." There was a pause. "They weren't ready?" "No. They had some people sick yesterday or something. They'll be ready tomorrow." Michael said nothing. Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the silence, though he wasn't sure why. "He gave us a discount . . ." "A discount?" Michael broke in quietly. "I need a clean shirt for tomorrow. I ask you to do one simple thing for me and you can't do it. What's the matter with you?" "I . . . it wasn't my fault. They weren't done . . ." "I don't care whose fault it was. I need a shirt." Sam felt his hand tightening on the phone. He was too shocked to be angry. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. If Michael had been shouting, it might have been different. But his voice was calm. "I don't know," he stammered. "Listen, I'll pull something out of the hamper and wash it for you . . ." "Fine. Just get me a shirt for tomorrow morning. And don't ruin it in the wash. I'll be home at four." Michael hung up before Sam had a chance to collect himself enough to formulate a reply. Sliding the phone back into the cradle, Sam was surprised to find that his hands were trembling. Shaken, he sat down on the couch. Across the room, the Imaging Chamber door appeared again. Al was frowning. His expression became one of concern when he saw Sam. "Sam, what's the matter?" Sam looked up. "What? Why? Nothing." "You look like . . . you look like you're about to cry or something." Sam threw his dust cloth onto the table. "What would I do that for?" "I don't know. What happened?" "Nothing. I just got a phone call from Michael." "What did he want?" "He wanted me to wash a shirt for him." Sam folded his arms, wondering why he was so reluctant to tell Al what had just happened. "What have you got for me?" "Nothing good, I'm afraid." "Why? Why am I here?" "According to Ziggy, Laura Cole dies tomorrow night." Sam nodded. "How does she die?" "The newspaper article says it was an accidental fall down the stairs. It happens tomorrow night at eight-thirty. You're here to prevent it." "Right," said Sam. "So that's all? I just have to keep her from falling down the stairs?" Al shrugged. "That's what it looks like. So this is easy." "Well, maybe. But if it doesn't happen until tomorrow, then that means I have to spend the night here. With him." Al sucked contemplatively at his cigar. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?" "Yeah. Yeah, I'm really worried about this. I've leaped into women before, but none of them have been married. I mean, what if he . . . what if he wants to . . . you know." "Tell him you have a headache." At Sam's tight look, he said, "It works. Ask my . . . second -- fourth . . . hell, ask all my wives." Sam shook his head. This was one subject he did not feel like making light of. "It's not just that, anyway," he said. "There's something about this guy that bothers me. I mean, he's so big, and he's . . ." He broke off. Al was not listening to him. "Al. Al!" Al turned his attention back to Sam. "What? Oh, I'm sorry. I just got an emergency call from Dr. Beeks. She says it's important that I see her right away." "What's wrong?" "I don't know. Something about Laura. Listen, Sam, you just hang tight. I'll be right back." "Yeah, okay." Al left the Imaging Chamber, leaving Sam alone again with his dust cloth. He decided to make lunch while he waited. Sam was halfway through a tuna sandwich when Al returned. The observer looked grim. "What's wrong?" Sam asked. "Is Laura okay?" "Yeah, yeah, she's fine. For the most part." Al stepped closer to his friend. The concern in his eyes made Sam uneasy. "Sam, Dr. Beeks ran a full physical on Laura. X-rays, the whole bit." "And?" "She found several bones that have been broken in the recent past, and bruising . . . Sam, she thinks Michael's been beating her." "What does Laura say?" "Laura won't talk. She's heavily into denial right now. Beeks is still working with her. I don't know how far we're going to be able to get." Sam stood up, walking to the window. It looked out on a neatly trimmed back yard with a swingset and a sandbox. "Al, I don't think that fall down the stairs was an accident. I mean, maybe it _was_ an accident, but I think there was more to it than that." "You mean you think Michael had something to do with it." "Yeah. He scares me, Al." "He scares you? Why would he scare you? You're not Laura, Sam. You're bigger than she is, you're stronger, and you know all that tai kwon do judo karate stuff. You can defend yourself. She can't." "I'm not so sure, Al. This guy is big. I don't think I can take him." "Well, Ziggy doesn't think you'll have to." "Yeah? What does Ziggy say?" "He thinks you're here to get Laura and Kelly away from Michael before the accident tomorrow." Sam nodded. "Right. That's a good idea. As soon as Kelly gets home from school, I'll take her and we'll go -- somewhere. Where do I go, Al?" "Laura's mother lives in Boston. If I were you, I'd go there." "Good. That's a good idea." "Okay." Al hesitated. "Are you sure you're okay, Sam? You still look weird." "Well, I feel a little weird," Sam answered. He shook it off. "Don't worry about me. Just get as much information from Laura as you can. I have a feeling I'm going to need it." "Sure," said Al. He opened the Imaging Chamber door. "You be careful, kid." Sam nodded. An oppressive sense of isolation fell upon him as Al disappeared. He felt totally at the mercy of the leap, as if no matter what he did, it would be wrong. And he didn't know why. He went upstairs to Kelly's room. He wanted to be ready as soon as she got home. He put together a suitcase for each of them and found a Massachusetts state map. Then, feeling at loose ends, he dug two shirts and a pile of towels out of the hamper and put them in the washing machine. When he pulled them out, one of the white shirts looked pink, and he noticed only then that one of the towels was red. At least the colour was evenly distributed on the shirt. He threw everything into the dryer and hoped nothingwould have to be ironed. The shirts proved to be permanent press, so an hour later he put them on hangers and deposited them in the closet. Kelly's bus didn't pull up until 3:45. Sam was pacing by then, remembering that Michael had said he would be home at four. They would have to hurry. He met Kelly partway down the sidewalk. She looked surprised. "What's wrong, Mom?" "Nothing's wrong, hon. But you have to hurry. We're going to go visit Grandma, and we have to leave right away." "Is Grandma sick?" Sam hustled her into the house. "No, no, Grandma's fine. But if we don't start right away, we won't be able to get there at a reasonable hour. Now, I've got all our stuff packed . . ." "You said I could go next door to Marcia's tonight," Kelly protested. "Well, we're going to do this instead, okay?" Sam took her hand as he closed the door behind them. "Okay?" Kelly stopped, looking at the suitcases, then looked up at Sam, puzzled. "Isn't Dad coming?" "No, baby, Dad's not coming. Now, why don't you just get your stuff and let's go." "Did you tell Dad we're going?" Kelly was hesitant. She was still staring at the suitcases, as if they might blow up in her face. "No, I didn't. I'll call Dad later and let him know." Sam picked up his own suitcase and opened the door. "Dad's gonna be mad," Kelly stated. Sam stopped. Kelly looked at him with a strange, helpless fear in her eyes. "Dad's gonna be mad," she repeated. Sam didn't know what to say. He knew how she felt. He picked up her suitcase in his other hand. "Come on," he said, and opened the door. Michael was coming up the sidewalk. "Oh, shit," said Sam. Michael stopped walking. "Laura," he said quietly. "What's going on?" Sam foolishly tried to hide the suitcases behind his back. "Nothing, Michael. Nothing." "Nothing?" Michael repeated. "It looks like you're going somewhere." "Oh. Well . . . I was thinking we might go see Mom." Michael stepped forward. Something had shifted in his stance. He looked even bigger, steely, and frightening. Sam swallowed. Fear was a galling bitterness in the back of his throat. "Go see Mom?" Michael said. "I don't remember you saying anything about that." "It was sort of a last-minute thing. She called and said she'd like to have some company." "So you were just going to head up there without telling me." "No. No. I was going to tell you." Sam was starting to stammer again. He suddenly felt small and helpless, as if he really were Laura. Michael loomed over him, a huge, hulking shadow. "Get in the house," said Michael, still quiet. "Get in the house now." Sam went inside. Kelly had backed into the living room and was standing next to the staircase, her eyes wide and frightened. "I've told you before not to lie to me, Laura," Michael said, following Sam into the house. He closed the door gently behind him and locked it. "How many times have I told you not to lie to me?" "I didn't . . ." Out of nowhere, Michael's hand came up. He slapped Sam across the face, throwing him off balance. Sam dropped the suitcases and staggered back a step. "You were going to run away, weren't you?" Michael murmured. "You were going to run away to Mommy and not tell me." "I don't . . ." Michael slapped him again. Sam, angry now at his own sense of helplessness, struck back. Michael's open hand intercepted Sam's fist in mid-air. The blow did not even jar Michael. He closed his hand around Sam's fist and jerked Sam's arm around, twisting it behind him, then shoved Sam away. Sam stumbled and hit the floor. "That wasn't very smart," said Michael. He came up behind Sam and pushed him over roughly with his foot. "Apologize." "Apologize, my ass," Sam snarled. He came to his feet and took up a fighting stance. Michael laughed. "That's funny, Laura." As Sam gathered himself for a blow, Michael closed his hand into a fist and struck at him. Sam deflected the blow with one arm, but it jarred him enough to throw him off balance Michael pushed him with the other hand and Sam ended up on the floor again. Sam felt his breath coming hard, more from fear than exertion. While he had told Al he didn't think he could take Michael, he had been certain he could at least hold his own. But he couldn't even do that. This was like a terrier challenging a Rottweiler. "Apologize," Michael repeated. He picked Sam up by his hair. "Apologize." Sam ground his teeth together. "I'm sorry," he grated. "That didn't sound very sincere," said Michael, and slapped him again. "Apologize." Sam tasted blood in his mouth. Michael twisted Sam's head up, forcing him to look into Michael's face, then backhanded him, twice. Sam was starting to feel dizzy. He swallowed. The thick taste of his own blood made him sick. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I'm sorry, Michael." "That's better." Michael let him go. Sam collapsed. He heard Michael move past him, through the living room and into the kitchen. "Sam!" Al was there, suddenly, out of nowhere as usual. "My God, Sam, are you all right?" Sam nodded, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked around the living room for Kelly. She was still standing by the steps, silent. "Are you okay?" he mouthed to her. She nodded, backing up against the wall. In the kitchen, Michael was slamming cupboards open and shut. "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner, Sam. I was with Beeks and Laura." "It's okay," Sam mumbled. He was afraid of what Michael might do if he heard him talking. "There wasn't anything you could have done, anyway." He got up and went to Kelly. "Listen, sweetheart," he said to her. "Why don't you run upstairs and start on your homework. I'll be up in a few minutes." "Okay, Mom," said Kelly in a small voice. Al was shaking his head, a stricken look on his face. "That poor kid. I wonder how many times she's had to watch this?" "Once is too many," Sam stated. Dizzy again, he sat back down on the floor next to the steps. "I can't fight him, Al. He's too big. Anything I do, he can overpower." "Laura said he was big. I never dreamed he was that big. After all, she's so tiny . . ." He broke off. Sam could tell he was picturing the scene before him, substituting Laura for Sam. Sam had been thinking the same thing. "He's big, all right," Sam said. He rubbed at his eyes. His mouth was still bleeding, but the dizziness was receding. "Do you have any more data for me?" "Yeah, and it's not good. Ziggy says there's an 85% chance that you're here to get Laura and Kelly away from Michael. But Beeks says there's an even higher probability that if you do get them away, and you leap, Laura will go back to Michael." Sam was taken aback. "Why would she do that?" "She's a mess, Sam. She thinks she's in love with him. She thinks she deserves to be hit because she doesn't take good enough care of him." He nodded at Sam's dumbfounded stare. "I know. Beeks says that's fairly common in this kind of situation. Laura needs a lot of help. Probably as much as Michael does." "So what do I do?" "I don't know. I guess you go ahead and leave with Kelly and hope you don't leap." Sam considered, then shook his head. "No," he said. He felt blood on his chin again and wiped it off. "If I leave, I'll leap. I've got to stay here until Beeks convinces Laura that she has to leave him. Then I'll leave, and I'll leap, and Laura won't go back." Al gave his friend a dubious look, then poked at the handlink. "I don't know, Sam. Let me run it by Ziggy." After a few squawks and burbles from the handlink, Al looked back up at Sam. "Ziggy says that if you stay here, there's a 90% chance that Michael will kill you instead of Laura." _I can believe that_, Sam thought. He closed his eyes, feeling the pain, tasting the blood. "If Laura leaps back in, she'll die for sure. If I stay here, at least I have a chance." "I don't call 10% very good odds." "I guess I'll just have to take that risk." Al's lips thinned against his teeth. "If that nozzle kills you . . ." "He's not gonna kill me, Al." Sam staggered to his feet. "Look, I need to go clean up. Go back and find out what Beeks is up to. I want you to keep me posted so I'll know when to leave." "All right," said Al reluctantly. "But you watch yourself." Sam waved him off. He understood Al's concern, but he also had a feeling that this was the right thing to do. Painfully, he dragged himself up the stairs. **** -- ----- Katriena Knights "I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't have to live there."