PROLOGUE

From somewhere out of infinite darkness, light and sound streamed into shape as the molecules quickly assembled themselves into their chosen form. Followed by a surge of electricity soldering them all together, light turned to flesh and Dr. Sam Beckett opened his eyes.

The air was crisp on his face, the sun bright in his eyes. A shallow breeze whipped a patch of sandy earth at his feet as Sam got his bearings. He had arrived in front of a bookstore with a handwritten "Closed for Thanksgiving" sign taped to the front door. Several other deserted shops lined the street-front dressed with faded awnings and similar signs in all the windows. Sam looked around, searching for signs of life… a car, smoke rising from a rooftop chimney, anything that might guide him to his purpose here.

‘Where was here?’ he thought. "A newspaper," he suggested to himself. "I need a newspaper."

Sam began walking up the sidewalk, still in a daze from his leap-in state. As he started to round the corner of "Bruckner's Pet Shop", Sam turned to look in the window in order to catch a glimpse of his host's reflection. But before he could accomplish the task, he was knocked instantly off his feet and onto his backside.

"Oh! Are you loco?!" screamed the rather portly woman who had run into him head-on.

"Owww," Sam muttered as he got his wind back.

Her foreign accent poured over him. "You should be looking ahead and not at yourself…you're going to run someone over turning corners like that!"

"Me? You ran into me!" Sam retorted as he brushed sand off of his bruised elbow.

"Not again…this wasn't supposed to happen this way," she proclaimed with a touch of frustration in her voice.

"What?" Sam responded, confused.

"Us meeting." She frowned, then offered her hand to Sam. "Here, let me help you up. I am so… how you say… clunky. Give me your hand and I help you up."

"I think you mean clumsy," corrected Sam. Taking the woman's hand, Sam was quickly and uncomfortably thrust upward off of the cool sidewalk from the force of the hefty woman's grip.

"Clumsy! Yes, I meant that." She was draped in a thin white dress which looked very worn, and a dark fur coat even though it had to be at least 70 degrees outside. Silk white stockings crawled up her burly calves and holding them in place were some antique white glazed shoes with scuffs on the edges. Her hair was a dark black color offset by a white hat. Red lipstick lined her ever-talking mouth and she wore a short strand of pearl earrings in each ear. Sam realized from her accent that she was Hispanic… no, Puerto Rican.

"Thanks," said Sam with a confused look on his face. "I think." Sam took a step toward her and found himself falling backward again as he slipped on something smooth. "What the--"

"Now who's clumsy?" laughed the woman looking down at him once more.

Sam just lay there a moment. His back hurt, his elbow ached, and now even his tailbone had sharp pains running through it. Then he saw what had brought him back to the sidewalk surface so quickly: a tube of lipstick. Several other cosmetics were scattered around him and just down from his feet was a small white purse.

"Let me help you up again," said the boisterous woman as she held out her hand once again.

"No!" shuddered Sam. He wasn't up to being shot like a cannonball into the air yet again. "I mean… I can help myself." He managed himself off the concrete once more and stood carefully, his body aching already in this leap.

"Well?" asked the woman.

A cockeyed expression arranged itself on Sam's face. "Well… what?"

"Aren't you going to pick up my makeup? You knocked my purse out of my hands blowing around the corner like you did!"

"I did wh--" He stopped himself from speaking any further as she began spouting something in Puerto Rican at the top of her lungs into the sky above. She leaned over in front of Sam and began to put the handful of cosmetics into her purse.

"Here," he said. "Let me help you."

"Oh now he wants to help me!" she exclaimed once again to the clouds. She began laughing as if that was the funniest thing she had heard all day. Actually, Sam imagined it probably was.

He picked up the last item, the perilous tube of lipstick, and handed it over to this odd new person in front of him.

"When a girl has her lipstick," she smiled, "what more does she need?"

Suddenly a flash erupted in Sam's mind. A memory? He couldn't be sure…

Clip 1 

It was dark. An alleyway. A woman walking away just ahead.

Al speaking…"You're not really gonna let her go, are you?

"Who? Sam asked.

"Who?" Al repeated, confused. " Ang... Angelita!"

She turns and waves at him, smiling.

Waving back and whispering to Al, Sam asked, "Do I know her?"

"Huh?" quirked Al. "Do you... do you know her…quit foolin' around Sam."

The flash quickly ended and Sam was brought to awareness as the woman grabbed his arm and pulled hard. "We are late and it's all your fault!"

"Late? Late for what?" He felt his biceps strain as she pulled him a few feet down the street while spouting off word after word of her native language. And then suddenly, they stopped.

Smiling, she said, "Here we are!" and opened the door to the only place in town that appeared to be open. "And only a minute behind schedule."

Sam stepped back, startled. It couldn't be. The reflection in the store window shot back at him was his own! He just stood there, speechless. Was it real? A dream? He was a bit older looking than he had remembered. How old was he now? 49? 50? He hadn't celebrated his own birthday in…well, he couldn't remember. A white streak ran through his hair down in front and the rest of his hair didn't look like it would be far behind in a couple more years or so.

"I told you!" the woman pointed inside. "You should be looking ahead!"

His gaze into his own persona was broken as the lettering in the storefront window spelled back to him slowly as he backed away:

    Liquor Wine Beer
Lunches - Sandwiches

And just above those offerings in an arc of bold yellow text:

Al's Place

Sam gasped as his throat swallowed a gulp of air. "Oh, boy."

PART ONE

'Leaping around in time has brought me to many places. The stage of Man of LaMancha, a runway for a beauty queen, a radio station in Peoria…but in all of my leaps the most absorbing place I have been to was Al's Place tavern. My memory of it came rushing back faster than Ziggy could read Shakespeare and I remembered the time, how many years ago? It was when I met the person who had been leaping me through time, putting right what once went wrong. It was 1953…Cokeburg, Pennsylvania. And his name was…his name was Al. Not Calavicci. But this wasn't Cokeburg…was it? As I glanced around at the town I had leaped into, the buildings were both strange and familiar to me. A different time… a different place. But the bar was the same. Nothing had changed right down to the picture of the young man pushing out his stomach to look fat that hung on the wall. I decided to go in… and have a beer.'

"Schooner, am I right?" asked the bartender from the far end of the counter. He was just as Sam had remembered. White apron around his robust abdomen, graying hair, dark trimmed mustache, same white button-down shirt.

"You're the boss," Sam replied as he moved into the tavern and took a seat at the end of the bar.

"I don't know about that… but I do own the place."

A radio shelved somewhere in the back room softly played "Earth Angel" as the bartender poured a beer from the tap. They were alone, and it was quiet. It was too quiet.

Sam spun around on his barstool and felt the breeze from the floor fan brush past him as it rotated. "Where did she go?"

"Where did who go?"

"The woman who led me here," Sam answered.

"She'll be back. She works with me," explained the bartender.

Sam smiled and quipped, "I'm so sorry."

The bartender nodded and let a half smile cross his expression as he handed the beer over the counter. The Duquesne Pilsner clock on the wall hummed lightly as the second hand proceeded around its infinite loop. Sam noticed it was 12:42. His birthday - again?

"Got today's paper?" Sam asked.

"Right here," offered the bartender. "You’re my first customer today."

"Customer," Sam repeated. "I bet you have lots of customers."

"Well, this is the only place in South Bend open on Thanksgiving."

"South Bend?" Sam asked. "So I was right… this isn't Cokeburg."

"You must have been on a long trip to not know where you are," he said with a slight grin crossing his lips.

"You should know," probed Sam.

"Should I?"

"Your name is Al, right?"

"No."

"No?" asked Sam, surprised. "Wait… let me guess… your name is Ziggy."

"It's Albert," smiled the bartender. The American flag behind the bar waved as the fan pushed air into it on its journey around the room.

Sam shook his head, grinning, as he opened the paper to the headlines. 'The South Bend Oracle,' the paper uttered in large italicized letters. 'Thursday, November 27^th, 2003.'

Sam raised up, "2003? But you--" Sam paused to think.

"But I what?" asked the bartender with an amused expression crossing his face.

"It was '53," said Sam, digging through the holes in his memory. "I met you in 1953. That was…"

Al finished Sam's sentence, "Fifty years ago. Is my age showing?" He let out a jovial laugh as he put a glass back into the bar rack.

"It isn't showing at all…you haven't aged!" Sam leaped off the barstool to his feet. "I knew it! You are--"

Interrupting Sam, a loud female Puerto Rican voice came from the back room. "Oh! You remember Al… but not me! How could you not remember me?!"

He turned in the direction of the voice and stared at her for a moment. He had met her somewhere before… but where? Or when? "I-- I'm sorry I can't quite-- You see my memory is--" Sam just stopped, not knowing where he was going with his explanation.

"Oh your memory is very good, Mister 'run the angel down around the corner!' A photograbit memory!" she mispronounced.

"Angel?" smirked Sam. "It's photographic, and how did you know about that?" ‘No angel was supposed to act like this,’ he thought. ‘This woman is delusional.’

"I am not deluvial," she again mispronounced loudly. "I am Angelita Carmen Guadalupe Cecilia Jimenez. And I am an angel. But you may call me Angela."

"On-hey-la?" Sam attempted to pronounce.

"Si. A-N-G-E-L-A," she spelled for him. "Angela."

"I'm sorry," offered Sam, aggravated and confused by the ranting woman, a frown gracing his brow. "Where did we meet?"

Looking at the bartender, she said, "I wish they could remember me, Albert. They should be able to remember what I did for them."

"That's just the way it is," explained the bartender.

"Hmmmph," scoffed Angela as she roared toward the back room. She began speaking to herself in Puerto Rican again and disappeared around the corner.

"Like I said," Sam smirked, as he turned back to the somewhat portly man behind the bar. "I'm sorry."

"She has her moments. She's very helpful."

"Like salt on a cut finger."

"She brought you here," said the bartender.

Sam looked startled. "She brought me here? Oh you mean she assaulted me and dragged me into the bar. Yes, I suppose she did."

"Well," smiled Albert the bartender, "that's one way to look at things."

"Al, why have you brought me here? Why am I in this bar again with you and that … ranting woman?"

The bartender replied, "You still think that I control your leaps, don't you, Sam? You never returned home because you haven't accepted that you control your own destiny."

"That's not the scientific way to look at things… 'Al.' I am a scientist. I created Project Quantum Leap to travel in time. We've been over this before, remember?"

"I remember everything," the bartender submitted.

"I am sure you do," Sam accepted. "But I also created the retrieval program. I didn't mean for it to fail. It just did. Would you have me believe that I created something that was supposed to bring me back home and have it not work on purpose?"

"Not exactly."

"Well all right. Then we agree."

"Not exactly," said the bartender again.

"Then why haven't I just leaped myself back home?" Sam inquired.

The bartender said, "Somehow you targeted your leap in order to save Al and Beth's marriage. How would you explain that?"

Sam replied, "Since then, I have been unable to target my leaps. Was that just a stroke of luck?"

"Not exactly," repeated the bartender.

Drowning in questions, Sam asked, "Then why? You tell me why I haven't leaped home."

"I can't give you all the answers, Sam. But you can always take a chance." He handed Sam a rectangular board game. "Maybe this time you'll hit the jackpot."

"Price still a nickel?" Sam asked cynically.

"Maybe 50 years ago," laughed the bartender. "Now it's ten bucks."

Sam pulled the wallet from his back pocket. He was wearing jeans, he just now realized. He seldom wore jeans. He remembered vaguely how Tina teased him about how great he looked in tight jeans.  He pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to Al as he looked over his driver's license. 'Hmmm,' he thought to himself. 'Still the same. Expires 1998. Guess I need to get that renewed.'

The bartender handed him a peg and Sam inserted it into the board. He unrolled the paper slowly. One lemon… two lemons… three lemons! A broad smile leaped onto Sam's face.

"Okay… Al, what's the answer to my question?"

"Did you hit the jackpot, Sam?"

Slapping the paper down on the bar, Sam exclaimed…

"No! No, stop! Somebody stop that car! Somebody help us!" A woman screamed outside on the street.

Sam dropped the winning ticket and jumped off his barstool. The bartender looked on as Sam disappeared through the doorway.

As he exited the tavern, Sam saw the woman who was still screaming across the street and a man running down the road behind a smoking car. Sam took off after the man, breathing heavily to keep up. The man he was chasing finally fell to the asphalt about 200 feet in front of him, and Sam approached with caution.

"Stay where you are," Sam commanded. The man didn't move. He started to shake, and Sam realized he was crying. He moved around the man, dressed in a navy blue suit and tie as he assessed the man’s injuries. Tears were streaming down his face and he had scraped his hands on the rough surface of the asphalt. "What is going on?" Sam asked, still out of breath.

"They took… they took Sara. My little girl has been kidnapped!"

The woman who had drawn Sam's attention onto the street approached them quickly, also crying and gasping for air. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam remembered seeing this woman before. A flash of lost memory…

 Clip #2   

"Well, your momma God rest her soul, she'd made a woman of ya instead of a cowboy."

"Why can't I be both?" replied the attractive blonde in a cowboy hat, turning towards her father.

"Cause it ain't natural. Get married, Tess."

"Who do ya expect me to marry?" she retorted as she looked around the ranch toward the other hands standing around listening to the argument. "Ben? Or Eddie? Or…Zeke? I won't breed with inferior stock, Chance.  The man I marry has to be more of a man than I am!"

"Call the police! Please, sir! Call the police! They kidnapped my little girl. They kidnapped Sara…"

The woman dropped to her knees and grabbed on to the man Sam had chased. She held on to him, weeping and shaking.

"Tess? Tess McGill? Is it you?" he finally asked.

The woman looked up at him, confused and upset. "Tess? What? I'm Moira. Moira McCloud. Please sir," she began to weep again, "Please get help…"

Sam looked frantically back towards the bar. There was no one in sight. He shouted out loudly down the street, "Al! Call the police!"

"I can't call the police… I'm a hologram!" Al Calavicci stepped through the glowing Imaging Chamber door, tapped at the handlink, and closed it behind him. He wore a purple tie adorned by red sequins with a yellow shirt and matching hat. His slacks were a dark violet color as well and Sam noticed for a brief moment that there were blinking lights coming from his loafers.

Sam approached the couple below him. "I'm going to get help. I'll be right back. Everything's gonna be ok."

Sam motioned for Al to quickly follow him around the corner, back in front of the bookstore where he first leaped in. "Al, where have you been?! A child has been kidnapped! You got here too late!"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm surprised I got here at all! Ziggy had a hell of a time getting a lock on you. There's no one in the waiting room! You leaped as yourself again! The last time that happened--"

"Just find out what's going on, Al. Find out what happened to the girl."

"Sam, I just got here. I need something to give to Ziggy to narrow the search. Find out her name."

Somewhere close by, a siren roared. "The police…" he spoke aloud, heading back onto the street.

Al followed him back to the couple that was now standing in front of the blue and white police sedan that had screeched to a halt. The officer got out of the vehicle and quickly approached the couple.

"What happened here, Moira?" asked the officer.

The woman answered through her tears, "It's Sara. She was taken right off the street! Right in front of me! One of the men threw this out the window!" She handed him a piece of paper covered in different sized letters, which were pasted onto it. It read:

3O MiLliOn dOlLaRs. PaY oR ShE dIeS. wIlL cOnTaCt yOu.

Moira began to cry again and the man she was with held her close. Sam saw matching wedding rings on their fingers and realized that they were married. She was about 26 years old, Sam guessed, with blonde hair and green eyes. She was as attractive as he had remembered, even with the makeup running down her cheeks. Her husband looked a bit older… maybe about 30. Sam didn't remember ever meeting him before. But who knows… his mind was so swiss-cheesed. The man stood tall and had taken hold of his emotions and began to speak to the officer.

"It was an '88 Pontiac, detective. A silver one. There were two men in it and…"

"No," Sam interrupted, "it looked to me like an '82 Nissan Sentra. Like a station wagon type of vehicle. There was a lot of smoke coming from the tailpipe, but I'm sure it was a Nissan."

Al punched the handlink and exclaimed into the air, "Try and get a lock on a 1982 Nissan Sentra anywhere within 10 miles of here!"

"Excuse me friend," the detective asked somewhat suspiciously. "May I ask who you are and where you were just a moment ago?"

Again, Sam's memory interjected a sudden memory. The detective. He knew the detective…

Clip #3    

"Play it again, Sam."

"Ahh…am I Bogey?" Sam asked, looking at his hosts' reflection in the mirror.

Al responded, "No, he's on Long Island with Audrey Hepburn making 'Sebrina.' but the resemblance is amazing.  That might be why Nick became a gumshoe."

"Gumshoe?" questioned Sam.

"Shamus, tech, dick…you don't know the lingo?!"

Sam shook his head. "I don't remember…"

"What kinda peeper you gonna make?"

"Nick Allen?"

"My name is Detective Mason. Answer my question please sir." He took a step back from Sam, one hand on his sidearm.

Sam fumbled for the explanation. "I uh… I went around to find a pay phone to call the police, but there isn't one anywhere around here. So I heard the sirens and came back to help."

Al bellowed at the handlink, pounding on the keys. "What do you mean you can't get a lock?"

"What about the one right across the street?" asked the detective, pointing about 20 feet to his right.

"Oh… I… I didn't see that," explained Sam. "You see, I'm not really from around here and I…"

"Dammit! Tell Ziggy to get off her circuited butt and start working on it!"

"I think maybe you need to come with me, Mr…?"

"Beederman," came a loud, familiar woman's voice. "His name is Sam Beederman."

"Who are you, ma'am?" asked Mason.

Moira and her husband edged quietly off the street as Mason motioned for them to move back.

Angela came forward, her coat whipping around her body as she moved. "A friend of Sam's. We have known each other for ages! All the way from Manhattan! We've had some good times, no?"

"Sam," Al asked, pausing from his abuse of the handlink for a moment, "Who's this? She looks familiar…"

Sam wanted to choke. "Yes, some good times...but this isn't one of them." He tried to smile, but it felt wrong on his face. What was she doing to him?

"Sam is a… how do you say…hoss-taze negosheeaton?" she tried to unravel from her foreign tongue.

Mason drew his weapon on Sam. "Hostage?" he spoke loudly to Sam. "You have a hostage?"

Moira gasped behind the group. Her husband held her hand tightly.

"Are you trying to get him killed!" Al screeched at Angela.

Sam slowly put up his hands. "No! No, she means hostage negotiator. I talk people out of hostage situations! Right, Angela?" He prayed in his mind that this would work and not get him put into jail before he could put this situation right.

"Yes!" Angela exclaimed. "He works for the J.A.G."

"Angela…" Sam tried to stop her from saying any more.

Mason didn't lower his weapon. "I need some identification please."

Angela spouted, "Well go on Sam. Your I.D. is in your pocket there. Pull it out and show the man before he throws the boot at you!"

Al corrected her. "The book. Throw the book at him. Geez…"

Repeating what Al had said, Angela exclaimed, "Throw the book at him!"

"The detective, somewhat startled by her statement asked, "I thought you were friends… now you want him in jail?"

"No, no, no… is bad English. Ahhh… just let him get his I.D. and you see what I mean!"

"Bad English? Ha!" Al interjected. "Sam, this woman is getting on my nerves. I think I know her from somewhere…" he squinted as he looked at her then shook his head when the memory didn’t come to him.

Sam, trying to concentrate on the situation at hand indeed felt something in his shirt pocket he hadn't noticed before. Angela winked at him and smiled broadly.

Sam grimaced back at her. "Ok, I'm just going to reach into my shirt pocket, ok?"

"Slowly, Mr. Beederman."

"Easy, Sam," suggested Al with a concerned look. "I think he would pull the trigger if a dime dropped right now."

Sam carefully pulled a leather badge holder from his shirt pocket. He opened it slowly so that he could see it first. It was an FBI badge! Sam sighed in relief as he turned the badge toward the detective.

"Saaaam," blurted Al. "How did she know that?"

Sam glanced at Angela with a look of astonishment.

"I'm an angel, remember?" Angela moved toward Al as Mason lowered and holstered his weapon.

"Well you are certainly Mr. Beederman's guardian angel," said the detective. "I'm sorry Beederman… just had to be sure. But your badge says FBI… I thought she said you were in the JAG corps."

Sam sighed in even more relief. "No, she was just mistaken. And I understand. You can call me Sam."

They reached out to shake hands.

"And you can call me Perry. Everyone around here is pretty much on a first name basis."

Al lost it. "Sam! Ha ha! His name is Perry!" Al began to laugh so hard it made Sam's sides hurt just watching. "Perry Mason! His name is Detective Perry Mason! Ha ha ha… ain't that a kick in the butt! He even looks like Humphrey Bogart as well! Talk about cliché!"

Sam smirked at Al to stop.

"It not nice to make fun of other persons," said Angela.

Al stopped laughing abruptly and looked at the large woman. He edged over to Angela and waved a hand in front of her face. "Sam… I swear I know her!"

Mason returned, "I know… like the TV guy. My Mom was a big Raymond Burr fan – you could say. But right now I could use your help on this case, Sam."

"Of course. Anything I can do to help," Sam agreed immediately, moving quickly off the Perry Mason topic.

"Well, you can start by coming along with Moira and Brad down to the station. We'll need to get statements from them both and see what to make of the ransom note. I'll need your statement also."

"Let's go," Sam agreed as they began walking toward the police cruiser.

"Sam," said Al, "I'm gonna go back and see if I can get Ziggy working a little harder on this leap. Go take care of the paperwork in the meantime. I'll be back as soon as I know anything that will help."

Angela sighed. "Good riddance!"

Mason, Al, and Sam both turned back to her. In unison, they all said, "What?"

"You should choose your friends better, Sam! This one's still got the attitude problem!" She looked dead at Al and then turned and walked away, back toward Al's Place.

Detective Mason looked at Sam for an explanation. Sam looked at Al for the same thing. Al just looked, his head cocked to one side as if he was remembering something.

"That red devil - he still dresses in horrible clothes!" she yelled back at them over her shoulder. "Who wears a purple tie with a yellow shirt?!"

"Hey!" exclaimed Al, indignant. "This shirt costs $80 bucks! It's Ralph Lauren!"

"Hmmmph!" groaned Angela as she continued down the street. "More like Ralph Kramden!" A light cackle emerged from her lips as she turned her head back to the group before she walked into Al’s Place.

It was as if a light bulb had gone off over Al’s head. Even as he blinked in realization of who the portly woman was, he turned his head back and forth between Sam and the building that she had entered. The lettering on the building caught his attention as well and his eyes widened in surprise. "Ohhh boy."

Mason just shook his head. "Your friend there is a little--"

"Loco," Sam finished, glaring at Al for an explanation. "Very loco."

They got into the cruiser as Al approached Sam's window. Sam whispered to him, "She can see you!"

Al motioned back to the building as the handlink whistled loudly. "Sam, she's an angel! I'm going to follow her before I go back to check on Ziggy."

"Al what…"

Mason had started the car and pulled away before Sam could comment any further.

PART TWO
Thursday, November 27^th, 2003
1:18pm
South Bend, New Mexico

The image exploded around him as Al centered himself at the doorway of Al's Place. He had been here before, the observer remembered. But not in this town and it was 50 years ago… when Sam had leapt as himself into a coal-mining town. Al knew South Bend…he had been here before. But he'd never seen this little bar. He would have remembered. What was it Sam had said?

 Clip #4   

"I'm here, but where is here? Where's here?" asked Al, dressed in his Navy dress whites.

Pointing to the sign in the window, Sam said, "Al's Place."

"Ha!" smiled Al. "I always wanted my own bar."

"Yeah, well this is more than just a bar, Al. This is where it all started."

Confused, Al asked, "Where what started?"

"Quantum Leap."

Al's vision removed itself from the yellow text on the window and focused through the pane to the bar inside. That bartender…

"It can't be." Al gulped as he passed through the closed front door and moved into the bar.

The place reminded him of a dive he and Chip used to go to back in those early days when everyone called him 'Bingo.' They had some great times there. In fact, that's where he met Lisa Sherman. He suddenly remembered her…

"Ahh, the good 'ol days," Al said to himself.

The bartender was rubbing down the countertop with a white cloth, removing the ring where a beer glass had once rested. Al scanned the bar, looking for Angela. He could see a room adjoining the back of the bar. As he made his way toward it, he saw several pictures on the wall. Black and white photos, mostly. Looked like they were from World War II. Near the bottom, one photo caught his eye. A tall man, early 30's. He was dressed in a 40's style suit and standing next to a slightly younger version of the man behind the bar. They were both smiling and even though the photograph was tattered and torn around the edges, Al realized that it was a picture of his father.

"Oh my God." Al looked up at the bartender, who had started dusting off the liquor flasks that lined the wall in front of the mirror. "What is this place?" Al asked to himself.

Al moved in close to the counter and stared at the bartender. He was standing in the middle of the counter's image when he asked, "Who are you?"

"Just a bartender," replied the man who had now stopped dusting and turned to face the observer.

"You can see me?" asked a startled Al, backing his image out of the bar's counter and back to the other side.

"You seem surprised," grinned the bartender.

"This is too weird." Al took another step back.

"Why do you say that? Angela can see you." The bartender picked up a towel and began to shine a napkin holder as he waited for Al's response.

"But she's an angel." Al paused. A look of shock came over his face. A look of fear followed right behind it.

Realizing what Al must be thinking, the bartender said, "Now you don't think I'm an angel, too… do you, Admiral?" He let out a jovial laugh and continued buffing the napkin holder.

Al again recalled his conversation with Sam just a few short years ago in front of this very bar.

 Clip #5    

Nearly in tears Sam said, "Al, please. Please… everything I'm telling you is the truth."

Al, in disbelief and concern replied, "Yeah… you haven't been leaped around by God or Fate or Time. No…you've been leaped by a bartender."

"He's not just a bartender! That's what I'm trying to tell you, Al." Sam looked hard into his friend's eyes as he pointed inside. "I think he is… God."

Al stepped back slightly, eyes wide on his friend.

"Or Time. Or Fate. Or maybe even something we've never even thought of…"

Al whispered, "God."

The bartender looked up with his eyes, his pleasant expression turning to false surprise. "Not you too! Now you think I'm God?"

"Well, if you're not God, then how could you know about Sam…and me? Sam was convinced that you were leaping him around in time. I think he still believes you are the reason or the meaning or whatever that controls his leaps. If you're not God, then who the hell are you?"

The bartender glared at him for a moment and said nothing.

Al grimaced, then lowering his voice carefully said, "Sorry about the 'hell' thing. Just sorta slipped out."

"Admiral… why do you think Sam has never returned home?"

"Well, I--" Al stopped short of what he was going to say, and then proceeded with, "If you're not God, then how do you know I'm an admiral? I'm dressed in plain clothes. Answer me that!" Al grinned in achievement, pointing at the bartender as if he had on up on him. "Ah-ha!"

"Well, I would hardly call them clothes!" teased Angela, standing right behind Al.

Al jumped and turned, stunned by her sudden presence behind him.

"More like a clown suit!" she continued, as she stepped around him and proceeded to go behind the bar.

"This outfit… you Roseanne reject… is all the rage in Vegas!" said Al in defense of his wardrobe.

"What did you say?" she asked, cupping her hand to her ear. "I can't hear you over those clothes!" She stomped down to the end of the bar, glasses clinking as she walked.

"Ha, ha, ha," smirked Al. "Well at least I don't have to shop for my clothes in the elephant emporium!"

"¡Alguien obtiene esto hombre pequeño fuera de aquí antes rasgo su detiene!" raged Angela as she bustled by the bartender on her way to the other end of the bar.

Al pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked the bartender.

Angela stepped up to him, "I don't care if you burn!"

"Angela," the bartender interceded, "don't you have an assignment to work on?"

She frowned. "Anything to get me away from this…this…"

"Go on!" scowled Al. "Say it! This what?"

"What are you doing here, anyways?" she scoffed.

"I came here looking for you, although now I don't know why!" Al retorted.

"Looking for me?" she said, suddenly pleasant and approving. She batted her eyes at him. "Maybe I was wrong about you, no?"

"Yeah…you've got everything a man could want. Teeth, hair, moustache…"

" ¡Ah! ¡Usted diablo! ¡Permítame fuera de aquí!" she shouted.

"All right, all right. Geez…don't get your panties all tangled up." He paused to light his cigar. "So you really are an angel, eh? I gotta admit, I didn't believe it at first. I mean to look at you--"

"To look at me what?" she leered at him. "I'm not fat! I'm just 4 feet too short!"

Al stared at her a moment. She looked back with no expression, and then erupted in a big smile laughing loudly. She and Al both said in unison, "A little angel joke!"

"Ya know, Angela…you're all right when you wanna be," the observer grinned, offering a truce.

"Well, I have been watching you for a long time, Al. And you are not such a bad guy either."

"Gee, thanks, Angela. That's nice."

"You're a horrible dresser, but not such a bad guy." She began to cackle in amusement of herself.

Al groaned, "All right, Jolly Miss Molly, why are you here? Why are we all here?"

The bartender cut them off, "There will be time for answers, Admiral. But right now, Angela has an assignment to look in on… and so do you, I believe?"

"Why don't you just tell me what we are here to do, since you know so much?" Al probed.

"Information from any good bartender never comes free, Admiral Calavicci." Would you like to take a chance?"

He showed the board game to Al. "You might hit the jackpot."

"You know I can't play that game… I'm a hologram!"

"Oh that's right," said the bartender. "I forgot." He put the game back behind the bar, shrugging his shoulders.

"Sure, you forgot," said Al as he frowned, skeptically. "Angela, why don't you tell me--" Al looked to his left where she had just been, but now was gone. "Angelita?" He turned in a complete circle; his cigar pointing the way as he did so.

The bartender removed his apron and pitched it somewhere behind the counter. "She had to go. And so do you, Al."

At that moment the handlink squealed and bleeped. Ziggy was sending him information. Something was wrong in the control room. Al punched a series of keystrokes and the Imaging Chamber door slid open.

"I'll be back…" said Al as he backed into the glowing light of the doorframe.

"I'm always here, Al," said the bartender, smiling. "Come back anytime."

Al, still consumed with questions, tapped the handlink, and the Imaging Chamber door slid shut.

As he quickly turned to continue down the hallway leading into the control room, Al came face to face with someone. A big someone. He backed up a step to get his bearings once again.

"Welcome home, Admiral!" grinned a woman with outstretched arms.

Al froze in shock not knowing how it could be.

Angelita, grinning wildly, helped him out with, "Oh, Boy!"

PART THREE
Thursday, April 15^th, 2004
9:36am
Stallions Gate, New Mexico
Project Quantum Leap

"How… how did … you…" Al sputtered as his head swiveled back to the Imaging Chamber door then back to her.

Angela just grinned back in response as she swayed her body back and forth like a child hoping for some candy. Slowly though, she turned her head to look around the ramped corridor that led to the Imaging Chamber.

"Hmmm," she supplied as she looked back at him. "White walls, octagonal and floor track lighting. Those designers," she tsked. "It could… use a woman’s touch."

Al frowned, his mind already dismissing the questions that had been passing through it a moment ago. What he didn’t need was a large Puerto Rican angel telling him that the décor needed to change. "It’s been fine for the last nine years." He tried to move past her toward the Control Room but Angela blocked the way. "Uh… could you… move?" he finally had to ask her.

"Oh… oh, sorry, Bingo." She moved slightly to the side of the corridor leaving just enough room for the Admiral to get by.

Al stared at her for a moment in utter amazement. "How did you know… oh… never mind," he said as he finally passed by to the right of her barely squeezing by.

"So," she asked as she turned to follow him. "Where is Piggy?"

Al came to a sudden stop and turned back to her. "What?"

"You know whom I mean," she said as she waved her hand around nonchalantly. "These computer, Piggy."

Al couldn’t help but grin. "That’s Ziggy, Angela. Ziggy. She may not like you calling her a pig."

A single solitary noise floated around them sounding an awful lot like a disgruntled ‘humph’.

Shaking his head, Al continued down the hall into the Control Room with Angela following. He stopped as he entered the Control Room, seeing a full staff meeting in progress. "What is th…" he began to question, but a bump from behind stopped him from finishing.

"Oh excuse me, Albert. I…" her voice filled the room sending echoes that bounced back lightly toward them. She blinked at the scene before her. Her eyes were wide as saucers as her eyes fell upon the large multicolored cube that was toward the left side of the room. It flashed from red to blue to green then yellow as information was processed and completed. Her eyes went up to the ceiling where an orb was suspended displaying a mystifying blue light with a white electrical current through it mesmerizing her. "¡Madre del Dios! ¡Es hermoso! Oh Albert… is this… Ziggy?"

Al blinked and turned as she came to his side mystified.

The group that had gathered in the Control Room turned to the loud woman, their shock and amazement apparent in the awe on their faces. Whispers passed between them of ‘who is she’, and ‘how’d she get in here’ spurred the actions of the two uniformed soldiers who were standing at the entrance of the Control Room. They acted immediately and surrounded her, each grabbing an arm.

"What are you doing?!" she scolded as she tried to push their hands away. "Get away from me!"

They looked to their supervisor, namely Admiral Albert Calavicci, then seeing his dismissal nod, they let go of Angela’s arms and went back to their positions by the door.

Angela adjusted her coat and gave them a snooty glare before she turned to look at Al with a small smile of satisfaction. "Thank you, Admiral."

Al gave her a half-grin then took a few steps toward the console and placed the handlink on its resting plate. "Would you care to tell me," he said to anyone who would give him an answer, "why there is a meeting of the minds going on and I wasn’t invited?"

"Ziggy did call you, Admiral," the tall lovely black woman said as she raised an eyebrow at him.

Al looked at her for a moment then took a deep breath. "Ok, Bena, what’s the deal? Has Ziggy figured out what’s going on?"

"Ziggy is…" Verbena straightened her white lab coat as she glanced at the women that surrounded the mainframe. She cleared her throat gingerly then began, "Well, Ziggy is depressed, Admiral," she winced even as she said it knowing that Al wasn’t going to like that term at all. He never had in the past, why would he start now?

"What?" Al asked incredulously.

Angela’s form stepped up beside Al as she laid her hand on the solid structure of the mainframe. She lightly tapped his arm as she said, "He said depressed. You know, melanjoly, dehected, no?"

Al turned his head at Angela confused. "What?"

"Dehected. Everyone gets dehected once in awhile." Angela patted the large red cube gingerly.

Donna couldn’t help but grin as she watched the woman’s hand patting the large cube consolingly. "She means, dejected, Al."

"That too," Angela replied still consoling Ziggy softly under her breath.

Al’s mouth drew up in the shape of an ‘oh’ as he glanced over at Sammy Jo and Tina who were trying hard not to giggle. "Why is she dehec… dejected?" he inquired with a shake of his head trying to rid himself of the word that tried to come out of his mouth.

"It seems that Ziggy is vexed by the fact that Dr. Beckett has leaped back into himself in South Bend, New Mexico. That’s like only six miles away. She’s afraid to like predict what will happen for fear of Dr. Beckett changing her own history," Tina said matter of factly as she smacked her gum and twirled her finger in her hair. "Ya know how she is ‘bout that."

"Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad thought that he leaped into South Bend to save himself. Only six miles away and so close to being home… he could have already come back here, fixed the retrieval program and is just waiting for us to initialize it," Sammy Jo said as the excitement of her own words appeared in her eyes. The others looked at her with downhearted expressions and she let the excitement of the moment fade. "I know," she said reluctantly as she glanced down at the mainframe and touched the dark red button used to initiate the retrieval program and sighed. "But it could happen."

"In theory, Dr. Fuller, it could happen," Ziggy stated softly under the tender ministrations of the angel at her side. "However," Ziggy’s voice dropped in pitch clearly showing her ‘emotions’ about the leap itself, "it’s highly improbable. If Dr. Beckett had come onto the compound, I would be aware of it and would have recorded and logged that information." There was a definite pause. "As of this date, there is no such log. I’m sorry, Dr. Fuller."

Sammy Jo nodded and sighed as she glanced at Donna who gave her a warm sympathetic smile.

"You know, it’s okay, Ziggy," Angela said plainly. "Sam will come home, eventually. He…" she lightly laughed. "He just needs…"

"Don’t say it," Al interjected.

"… time…"

"Oy, she said it," Al stated as he shook his head.

"… time," she emphasized for Al’s interjection, "…to realize that he controls his own destiny." The others in the room looked at Angela as if they were enthralled by her words.

"Perhaps your right, Angela," Ziggy pronounced her name correctly and the woman smiled sweetly up into the orb. "However, self-sacrifice is much easier than self-realization."

Angela nodded, her hair bobbing slightly into her face as she agreed with Ziggy. She lightly rubbed the smooth cube then said, "Si, it is much easier. Not wise, but easier."

Al watched Angela carefully as she moved her hand to a blue cube and whispered something very softly. "Sam’s always been self-sacrificing. He keeps changing the future for the better, right?" Al asked.

Angela bopped her head up and down again. "Si," she said plainly. "But, Al, to design the future effectively, you must first let go of your past."

Al took a step back away from Angela and shook his head. "The past is what we are dealing with here. That’s what we do. We correct the wrong and continue hoping that we’ll get him home…"

Angela shook her head then tilted it slightly to the side. She moved her hand to Al’s arm then looked up at the orb once more to see it sparkle iridescently. "This place… is amazing," she said as she looked at each of the group respectively. "You all work so hard … for an end result that you can’t quite seem to achieve. You are all self-sacrificing, no?" Angela looked at Al as a tear lightly caressed down her cheek. She swallowed down the emotion that wanted to bubble up then said, "It’s not what’s happening to you now or what has happened in your past that determines who you become… or where you go. It’s your decisions about what to focus on, what things mean to you, and what you’re going to do about them that will determine your ultimate destiny." Angela patted Al’s arm gently and smiled at him before she lifted her hand to her cheek to wipe away the tear.

No one knew what to say. Each person was caught up in his or her own thoughts about what she just said. Al looked at Angela thoughtfully then glanced at the others in the room. He knew that they weren’t getting anything done just standing around – and Sam needed their help. He slowly nodded then said, "Angela is right. We need to focus. Our focus, at the moment, is getting Sam that information that he needs. So, let’s go people. Let’s find out what happened to Sara Perkins so I can go back and fill Sam in. Ziggy?"

"Yes, Admiral?" her voice floated around him as he watched the group disperse.

"I need you to access any and all data concerning Sara Perkins and South Bend, New Mexico," he said plainly.

"Processing."

Looking around the room at the hustle and bustle in the room, Al watched as Angela tried to stay out of the way. He grinned at her. "Angela, why don’t you move over here out of the way."

Angela bopped her head up and down. "This place just went from quiet and solemn to shelter helter."

Al frowned at her words then dawning realization of what she had meant spilled across his face. "I think that you mean, helter skelter."

She slightly frowned and considered his words then nodded. "Hmmm, that too."

PART FOUR
Thursday, November 27^th, 2003
3:04pm
South Bend, New Mexico

'I had spent the last two hours wrapped up in paperwork, taking statements from both Moira and Brad McCloud, and giving my own to the detective. I was able to find out that the couple whose daughter had been kidnapped was indeed married, and had been since October of 2002. Sara Perkins was Moira's five year-old daughter from another marriage that had ended tragically three years ago when her previous husband, John, was gunned down in a drive-by killing just outside of town. Moira had married Brad about two years afterwards. He worked for the South Bend Savings and Loan and had been there for almost five years. He and Moira had met in the bank when she opened her daughter's trust fund. She had been working as a special education teacher for the South Bend Elementary School for the last four years since graduating at the top of her class from the University of New Mexico. The strangeness of this leap continued as she appeared to me as someone I had once saved from herself. Al still had not come back to tell me why I was here, although it was plain to see that I was here to find Moira and Brad's daughter. I just hoped that even though Moira looked like Tess McGill, I wasn't really here to provide lyrics to another song by Buddy Holly.'

The detective entered the small office with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and the crumpled up ransom note in the other. Brad and Moira sat next to one another at the table covered with police forms, and Sam was seated across from them, shuffling their statements into neat stacks.

"Moira," said Mason. "I wasn't able to find any fingerprints on the note. No hair or anything. I've called the FBI and they said they would be here within a couple of days," he turned to look at Sam. "Sam, the director said that you are a good agent and should stay on here until they get some other agents out here. Looks like your vacation ended, partner."

Sam, relieved that his FBI story had somehow been woven into reality, sat back in his chair and nodded. "I'll do my best, Detective."

"Now, Moira," asked Mason to the young woman seated in front of him. "Do you know of anyone… anyone at all who would want to harm you or your family? Think hard…someone at work, someone from church, anyone at all?"

Holding her husband’s hand tightly, she replied, "No, I can't think of anyone, Perry. You've known me since I was a baby. Why would anyone want to hurt Sara?"

"I don't think they want to hurt her, Moira. This is a ransom situation." Mason glanced to his left, tapping Sam on the arm. "Sam, you are the specialist in this area. You can probably explain it to her better than I can."

"Ah…right. Yes, well…" Sam searched his photographic memory for anything that might help him with the subject. "It's my understanding that when someone is kidnapped for ransom, two things can happen. The first is that all they really want is the money, in which case if they get the amount they are asking, they simply turn over the hostage and try to run with the money. A good percentage of kidnappers are caught within 48 hours trying to leave the country."

Cautiously Moira asked, "And what's the other thing that can happen?"

Sam looked down at the table avoiding her eyes. "Well…it's my job as a negotiator to make sure nothing like that happens." He shifted some papers. "Now tell me again about Sara's trust fund. You think it's the reason Sara was kidnapped?"

"When my uncle died in March of 2000, he left Sara and I his estate. My mother had passed away prior to him, so we were really the only family he had left. He had invented some computer chip or something and patented it… that's how come he had so much money. But anyways, he gave us the 55-acre house, 3 cars, and $40 million in stocks and bonds. That's when I first met Brad," she smiled at him, still holding his hand.

He smiled back, giving her hand a gentle squeeze for comfort.

"Go on," said Sam.

"I had decided to set up a trust fund for Sara. I put $30 million in a separate account for her. I wanted her to be set up for life in case something ever happened to me. And it would ensure the future of her own children… and their children."

The detective spoke up, "So this is why your daughter has been kidnapped. To get at the trust fund…"

"I think so…"

Moira began to tear up and Brad put his arm around her. He said, "We're willing to do anything to get Sara back, Perry. We'll give them the money. We just want her back safe, that's all."

"That might be a problem, Sam." Al stepped through the Imaging Chamber door and proceeded to tap and shake the handlink until the door slid closed behind him.

Sam, relieved that his friend was finally here with information, stood up from the table. "I need to go make a phone call to my office. I'll be right back."

Sam could hear Detective Mason continue with his questions as he left the room and proceeded down the hallway to the phone in the station's lobby. No one else was on duty at the moment due to the holiday, but Mason had informed Sam earlier that the department receptionist and another officer would be on the way soon. Al followed him, but didn't bother using the hall. Al popped the handlink, sending out a shriek of bleeps and buzzes. He disappeared and instantly reappeared in the lobby just as Sam turned the corner.

"Can't you just walk like a normal person, just once, Al?"

"Why walk, when you can re-image?" the observer suavely smiled as he demonstrated his technique by popping in and out all around the lobby.

"Al we don't have time for this," scolded Sam. "What did you find out on the kidnapping?"

"Bad news, Sam. The South Bend Oracle…" Al quoted as he punched the handlink. "Oh," he laughed lightly. "The local newspaper. Well, in the November 29^th edition…that's the day after tomorrow… it reports that Sara Perkins bo…bo--" he banged the handlink against his leg. "Oh body. Sara Perkins' body is found alongside Hwy 380. She had been beaten to death by at least one man. They suspected a second may have been involved."

Sam felt a trace of gloom run over his face.

Al continued, "I searched ahead up to the present day and the murderers still have not been found, Sam. They somehow got away with 30 million dollars. It tears Moira and Brad apart, they separate, and file for divorce." Al paused as he read the display on the handlink. He began to shake his head and softly continued, "And in 4 months she commits suicide. Oh, Sam you gotta fix this!"

"No kidding, Al. But I don't know anything about kidnapping, or--or hostage negotiation! I don't have the first idea where to start! Does Ziggy have any leads on the kidnappers at all?" Sam paced back and forth, trying to think.

"No…no all I have been able to get out of her is where the girl was found. Ziggy says your best bet is to get with," a smile etching on his face, "Perry Mason in there, and get him to take you out to the road where she is found. Ziggy says there is a 56.8 percent chance you can find a lead out there.

"Not very good odds, Al. Why so low?"

"Ziggy is still working on how you leaped as yourself. She never could figure it out before, and now she's depressed," Al explained. "She thinks she's lost her touch. Tina and the rest of the crew have been at the controls all morning trying to fix a glitch in the programming. And there's this one other thing, Sam."

Looking sternly at Al, Sam asked, "What other thing?"

"Well… there's been a development in the control room that has also effected Ziggy's concentration." Al shuffled his feet. "It appears that Ziggy may have met her match."

"Al…"

Al turned abruptly as the Imaging Chamber door opened.

"Don't you leave, Al. What's going on in the control room?"

"I'm not leaving, Sam! I didn't open the door!"

From the glaring light of the doorway, a solid figure appeared to Al. Angela was squeezing through the doorframe!

"Why did they make this door so damn small?" Angela bellowed as she struggled to get through the glowing frame.

"Why did they make you so damn big?" mocked Al.

She finally plowed through the doorway, which immediately closed behind her. "Oy!" she cried.

Sam was stunned. "Al… how did she get there? What the--"

"Sam, you can see her? But she's not holding on to me! How can you see her?" Al reached for Angela's hand, but his fingers passed through hers. "What's going--"

Angela passed straight though Al's holographic form as she walked toward Sam and put her arm firmly around his neck.

"It's a miracle, no?" She began to cackle once again and, letting go of Sam's neck, trotted off down the hallway toward the office.

Sam and his observer were awestruck. Al exclaimed, "This leap just gets hinkier and hinkier as it goes along. What the hell is going on around here, Sam?"

"I don't know, Al. I mean…I'm me; Tess McGill is down the hall talking to Nick Allen…but it's not really them, they just look like them!"

Al scratched his head as Angela opened the door to the office where Moira and Brad were talking with Mason.

Sam continued, "Al the bartender has somehow set up shop in a whole different town and…and now this woman comes out of the Imaging Chamber door and passes through what should be a hologram into reality!" He thought a moment. "An angel. You said she was an angel!"

"She helped you on another leap, Sam. You don't remember, but she saved your life."

"Why? Why don't I remember her?" he interrogated his friend.

"She said that's just the way it works."

Sam looked back down the hall. He could almost remember. Almost. "I hear a lot of that around here," he smirked. "That's the way it is." Sam shook his head as a memory of a past conversation seeped into his thoughts.

Clip #6   

"So Stawpah was here!" exclaimed Sam.

The bartender replied, grinning, "I remember him."

"Why don't they?" Sam asked, pointing to the miners celebrating behind him.

Al shrugged, still smiling, "That's the way it is."

Sam became frustrated. "That's the way it is? One moment he... he's one of them and the next… he's just a memory and all you can is 'that's the way it is!?'"

In a stern tone, the bartender answered, "Sometimes…'that's the way it is' is the best explanation."

The handlink interrupted Sam's memory as it screeched for its holder. Al studied and abused it for a moment.

"Sam, Ziggy says according to the autopsy report that Sara was killed sometime in the next 24 hours. You gotta hurry."

"All right, Al. We'll figure the rest of this out later. I'll get Mason--"

"P-P-P-Perry, Sam. Perry Mason!" he began to chortle to himself.

"Yes, ok? I'll take Perry Mason…and the Angel and go down to where she was found. In the meantime, go and give Ziggy an ego boost. I need to know as much as she can find out in the next few hours."

Sam turned back toward the office, wondering how much more bizarre this leap could possibly get.

To Be Continued