From: AKulsum@aol.com Date: Wed, 23 Oct 1996 16:38:27 -0400 Message-ID: <961023163826_131612452@emout15.mail.aol.com> Subject: road 3/9 [AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please note that some of the dialogue is in ^^ instead of "". This is to signify that it is not a person talking, but a memory. You'll see what I mean. Finally, there is a very small rather insignificant reference to my first story.] "The Road Taken" pt.III Sam gaped. He couldn't help it. "Your....mother?" Al nodded and sat down heavily on a chair he kept in the Imaging Chamber. He wanted nothing more than to be somplace else at that moment. Alone. But having confessed to Sam the truth, he knew he owed him a few answers. "Have you spoken with her?" "Of course I've spoken with her. I had to get your information somehow, right?" Sam nodded. "And I did ask, but she doesn't know of anyone who would want to kill her." Sam pulled the line of conversation back on track. "Does she know who you are?" "Of course not!" Al looked taken aback that he would even suggest it. "And there's no way I'm going to tell her, Sam! Goodness.....I'm older than she is. And there's the rules at the project that you created about-" "Why not?" "Why not?! Are you crazy? She left me, do you understand that? She. Left. Me." Al's voice trembled and Sam's heart went out to him, but he couldn't back down now, not until he got Al to realize why he was so reluctant to talk to her. "Don't you want to know why?" The silence was opressive, broken only by the uneasy shifting of Al in his chair. The slight sound of his movement felt as loud and painful as the shattering of glass to the both of them. "No reason she could possibly give me would be good enough," he finally responded. Sam nodded. "I'm not saying it would be, Al, but you have chance to talk to her and you shouldn't give that up. You've got a chance to make amends." As soon as he said it, he wished he could unsay it. Al was far enough away from just confronting this, let alone even thinking about making amends. Al's voice lowered, but Sam knew that only meant he was more upset than he had been before. "Let me tell you something, Sam. At age eighteen, I lost my sister. At ten, my father. I lost my mother at seven. Seven, Sam." Even the sound of a nervous swallow sounded like roar in his own ears. "Can you imagine being seven years old and thinking your own mother didn't want you? I don't know who this woman is," he continued, the hurt evident in his eyes. "I don't know what she likes to do, I don't know what her hopes and dreams are. I don't know if she regrets what she did or what she's been through, but let me tell you, this woman is _not_ my mother." Before Sam could say a word or even make an effort to resolve over fifty years of hurt and anger, Al desperately entered a code in the handlink and left. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- ^Al? Where are you Al? Won't you come out....I don't see you.^ He hadn't heard her for a very long time. Indeed, he still missed her deeply with all his heart as much now as he had when he was eighteen and had gone to find her only to discover that she'd left him three years before. He should have expected it, of course. Everyone else he'd loved had left him by that point and it was silly to think she wouldn't do the same. Al leaned forward in his chair and folded his arms on the desk. The lights were off and he hoped anyone who was looking for him would think he'd gone out for a night on the town. He rested his head on his arms and closed his eyes, barely aware of the bitter taste of sorrow on his cheeks and lips as the memories washed over him. It was the smell that always came back to him first: that slightly musty smell that assulted him as he entered the building. The next thing was the sound. Elevator music played lightly in the backgroud of the reception area; it sounded hollow in his ears. He'd gone to the desk, trembling with anticipation. Eight years....eight years he'd waited before he could come back to get her. He had last seen her at age ten at their father's funeral and he had told her then that he would be back for her. Al shifted his bag from one shoulder to another - all his worldy posessions - and walked up to the desk. "Excuse me." The woman behind the desk turned to face him and smiled a fake smile. "Can I help you?" "Uh, yes. I'm looking for a Trudi Calavicci. She's a - uh - resident here." "Of course," she said, talking down to him. "Let me just check the files." She got up and crossed the room, her cheap perfume clinging to Al's nostrils even after she had left. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, waiting anxiously. She returned with a bulging file and laid it down on the counter. "What is your relation to Ms.Calavicci?" "I'm her brother," Al said carefully. He was about to add more but changed his mind. He didn't need to tell her any more than that. He didn't owe her any excuses. She sifted expertly through the file, searching for the current location of the occupant. Her eyes rested finally on a line of the last paper and she looked up. "You mean you weren't notified?" Al tensed. "Notified of what? I've been in an orphanage for the past eight years....I've been writing her. What is it?" Ms. Sincerity slid the file across the counter to him. Al saw the pity and knew later it should have clued him in, but it didn't. He hated pity. Trudi M. Calavicci: deceased- Feb. 19, 1953 "No." "Is there someone you want to talk to?" "No," Al repeated with a bit more vehemence, but, although he was looking right at her, it was apparant that he didn't see her. Dammit, he'd missed her by five months! "Can I-" "NO!" In a rage, Al flung the file against the wall, the papers littering the immaculate floor. The woman jumped and started in alarm, the first genuine emotion she had expressed. "She's not dead and I want to see her _now_! You're lying! Why do you always do this? You lie!" Al's eyes flashed fire and for a moment the receptionist thought he might hit her. "What did you bastards do to her?!" "She-she died of pneumonia. We-" "Pneumonia?" Al railed. "You killed her, is that it? Why was I late? Why?" He barely felt the restraining hands on him, did not hear the soothing voices in his ears. All he knew was that they had taken them all away. The dizzying walls of the room seemed to press down on him from all sides, collapsing the barriers in his mind, the ones that kept him sane, and he was not longer certain if he was crying or screaming or both. He wasn't even certain if the thoughts running frantically through his mind were contained or if he was speaking them aloud. What was he doing so wrong that everyone left him? Did he not love them enough? Was he just not worthy of their love? He wasn't good enough for them and so they'd left him, because he had failed them all. No...they had been taken away...all of them. First his parents, and now his sister. Everybody he had ever loved had gone now and Al wasn't sure he could ever fill the void they had left behind again. He wasn't sure he wanted to. She had died alone, without family or friends beause he was her only family and her only friend. And it was all his fault. He sank to the floor. ^Where are you, Al?^ When they were both younger, they played hide and seek together. It was - had been - Trudi's favorite game. She would hide and Al would take his time finding her, even though he knew where she was. And when he would hide, she could never find him, but after a few minutes of looking, she would stand in the middle of the room and she would call to him. "Al? Where are you, Al? Won't you come out....I don't see you." And when he called, her plaintive voice drifting through the room, he could never help it. He always went to her. "I'm right here, Trudi sweetheart, don't worry. I haven't left you." Of course, then he'd get caught. ^Al?^ But he didn't mind. ^I don't see you.^ Now it drove him mad, the voice. ^Where are you? Al....^ "I'm here!" Al cried, sitting up in a cold sweat. "I'm.....oh, Trudi..... I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------------------- Katrina was tired, but she couldn't go to sleep. She hadn't slept since she'd arrived in this place: almost two days from what she'd been told. Since then, she'd spent most of her time alone with the few books provided for her and wondered what exactly was going on. She had discounted the possibility that it was all just a dream....she knew the difference between a dream and reality and as odd as all this was, it was real. And she couldn't figure out who Sam was. The admiral had mentioned him, but left before she could question him. She really didn't like the admiral. He seemed to know things....the look in his eyes (which seemed almost oddly familiar) was one she was unable to shake. But her curiosity didn't lead her to want to talk with him again; he only seemed to bring pain with him. His or hers, she wasn't quite sure. The door opened and Verbeena came in. Inwardly, Katrina sighed in relief, but one look at Verbeena's normally kind and calm face told her that this would still be an unpleasant visit. "Katrina, I have to talk to you," she said gently, moving beside her. Katrina swallowed. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Verbeena sat down. "I'm afraid we just recieved word. Your daughter's...passed away. She did over half a year ago. Susan found the newspaper clipping earlier today. I'm sorry." The news penetrated her thoughts, pushing it all aside and pulling a fog ever her mind. "Trudi....my baby. What have I done? I can't kill her," she whispered in a coarse, breathy voice. Katrina's hands shook and she started blankly at the space in front of her. "Katrina, listen to me." Verbeena waited until she had the woman's attention. "You didn't kill her." "Yes I did! I left them. Don't you see? This ruins everything. I can't go back now." "I don't understand. Go back where?" Katrina steadied her shaky breath. "I didn't just divorce my first husband. I left him. Him and my two kids. I was going to go back. Not to him, but to my children. I divorced Ben, I even bought the plane tickets. I was going back. Ben knew I wanted to, but he kept me from doing it, but now my baby is dead. I can't go back." She dug her hands into her own arms in a protective gesture. "I can't." Verbeena touched her arm, trying to draw her out of her sorrow. "It's not your fault. I'm sure your family would love to see you. It may not be easy at first, but in the end you will have felt better to resolve that part of your life, don't you think?" Verbeena stood and moved in front of her to try and force eye contact. "Just take time to think about that." Katrina waved her off. "I could never face them now. Please, just leave me alone." Verbeena hesitated, but then decided that she wouldn't be able to get through to her until she had at least worked through some of her sorrow. "Okay, but if you need me, just call. They'll be able to contact me." Katrina nodded and turned away as the tears began to fall, not even thinking to ask who "they" was. As Verbeena left, she almost ran into Al waiting outside the door. "Did you tell her?" he asked. She nodded. "I can't say she took it all that well, but it was the death of her daughter after all. But I really don't think I should discuss this with you at the moment. I wouldn't want to unintentionally violate any unspoken doctor/patient confidentially." Al nodded. "Anyhow, I have an appointment with Greg Turner right now, so I'll talk to you later." "Greg?" Al asked with a glitter in his eye, but it seemed forced to Verbeena's practiced eye. "Yes," she sighed, "the man's adorable, but he's still suffering from some memory loss and it's driving him crazy." She smiled. "We still need to do some work with you on that, don't we?" Al frowned at her. "I remember everything I care to about the time I switched with Sam, thank you." "I was just teasing," she said. "Take it easy, Al. Anyhow, I've gotta go. See ya later." Al watched her leave and then he entered the Waiting Room, knowing full well that Verbeena wouldn't want him to be there just yet. "Katrina?" Katrina was staring at the wall and now she looked warily at him. "What do you want?" she asked in a soft, fragile voice. "I feel you should know that Trudi died alone. Her father died five years ago," he said bluntly, without preamble. She went whiter, if that was possible. "What about....my son?" Pain etched in Al's face and he recoiled. *I can't do it, Sam. I can't.* "He....wasn't there either. He's in an orphanage," Al continued relentlessly. "Trudi had been put in an institution after her father died." He knew someplace inside of him how cruel he was being how cruel he was being to relay such painful facts so coldly, but he couldn't seem to find it within himself to do it any other way. "Albert," she murmured and Al felt as if he could collapse. The room spun around him and he almost physically staggered to the chair and sat, and it was only the realization that she was talking to herself and not him that allowed him to get there. He really wanted to leave this room, but he found he couldn't; his legs wouldn't work. Katrina looked at him. "Have you ever lost someone you really cared about?" "Have I......?" Al wanted to laugh, but he couldn't. A hand closed over his throat and he swallowed, trying to push it all down into some deep hole that he could cap and never open again. "A good number of them," he finally managed. "Tell me about them." "Why?" he asked, a little more sharply then he had intended. She lowered her head. "Because I just lost two people in the space of ten minutes and I barely knew one of them." That broke the spell. "You didn't _lose_ them," he pressed, feeling the loss himself all over again. ^Al?.....^ "It's not like you can look hard enough and you'll find them again. They're gone. Forever." Al turned to go, trying to overcome the bitterness, to talk to her, but he couldn't. *I'm sorry.* ^Where are you?^ "You can't go backwards," he stated, as much to her as to himself, and he exited the room.