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May 1971
Tallahassee, FL
The bullet was a match. Al stared at the data in his hands. It had to be wrong. It had to be. How could Sam’s host be guilty? What was he even here for?
He glanced at the image around himself, at the dark, dismal cell, and listened to the disheartening cries and sorrow of the nearby men. It was a hard place to keep a positive frame of mind, and Sam was starting to disintegrate. Al had seen it in the way he moved, the way he talked. Finally, he returned his attention to the scientist who was a few feet and 27 years away from him.
Sam stared at him, unblinking. The leaper had been through a lot since he’d started this impromptu journey through time three years ago. Al didn’t think he’d ever seen anything in his friend’s eyes to match the terror that resided there now. He knew that feeling: deep, choking, blocking out all reason and logic. Just unending fear.
It was the worst thing in the world.
“Sam…” Al said softly. He had nothing to offer. He shook the handlink, willing the data to change. Please let this be a mistake. A horrible mixup…
Sam blinked and Al watched him try to pull himself from the overwhelming sensation. Sam took a shuddering breath and grasped for anger instead. “You pull Ziggy apart to the stubs,” he ordered, panic giving his commands a hard edge. He stabbed the air with his finger. “I don’t give a damn what you have to do. You find out what the hell I’m here for!” He slammed his palm against the bars and turned away from Al.
Al nodded slowly. He took no offense to the tone. Anger would help Sam continue to move forward and Al hoped it wouldn’t flicker and die before this was over. Any time Al would spend on reassurance was better spent on solving their problem. Without a word, he called up the Door and stepped back into its light.
July 1998
Stallions Gate NM
Al ran down the ramp from the Chamber and started barking orders. “I want everyone up here in 5 minutes. If they’re in bed, wake them up. If they’re sick, give them Tylenol. Now!” he yelled when Gooshie hesitated just an instant. Tina was already on the job, phone to her ear. For all her flightiness, Tina was amazingly good in a crisis.
Al took her place at the console and started calling up scenarios. In less than his allotted time, everyone was crowded in the Control Room: Gooshie, Tina, Donna, Verbena, and a half dozen techs and scientists. Donna’s face registered panic, but he didn’t have time to coddle her and he knew she would do what she had to without breaking down on him. Sam’s life hung in the balance.
“Okay,” he said loudly and the chatter ceased immediately. “We need to find out what Sam’s there for. Jesús is guilty – we know that much. Sam has three hours, people. Three hours. That’s it. We don’t find out the why, he dies for someone else’s crime and that falls on our heads, you got that?” He didn’t pause for understanding, but he did note Verbena put a steadying hand on Donna’s arm. “I want everyone going through the articles in case Ziggy missed something.”
“Admiral,” the computer started, but Al wasn’t having it.
“Shut it, Ziggy. Not now.” Amazingly, she complied. “Verbena, you go through Tearsa’s files. See if there’s any leads there we can find. Donna, you hunt down Julio Antuna, the doctor. You find where the hell he went and why.” The two women didn’t wait for him to dole out the rest of the assignments but took off towards the conference room on the level where they usually did their brainstorming. “Goosie, you take Theodore Moody – find any piece of dirt on him you can. If he was late on a parking ticket, I want to know it.” He turned to Tina. “You head the rest of the team here and go through the original history. I want to know if anything ever turns up, I don’t care when, to shed any light on this.”
“Al,” Tina piped up, “what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to convince Jesús Ortega that he’s not dead,” Al growled. He’d purposefully dispatched of Verbena first so he could have unrestricted access to the Waiting Room and its visitor. Morals were wonderful things, but he wasn’t about to let something like that get in the way of helping Sam.
Al passed through the barren halls at a jog and reached the Observation Deck. One of Verbena’s people was in there: a nurse whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment. She was checking vitals. Jesús had remained unresponsive but that wasn’t good enough, now. He was going to have to talk.
He entered the room, tossing the handlink he still gripped onto a chair and stood over the prone figure. The nurse – Lacie, he now remembered – looked up at him, concerned. “Admiral,” she greeted him. She was a quiet woman; Al didn’t think he’d ever exchanged more than a few sentences with her before. She never joined anyone for meals or socially, just stayed in her bubble.
Which was just what he wanted. He wanted someone easy to intimidate. At that moment, he didn’t care what that made him. “Wake him.” The words were clipped, sharp. He wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“I’ll – I’ll have to make sure Dr. Beeks is-” she began in a mousy tone.
“No.” He nailed her with dark eyes. “Wake him. Now.”
“Yes – yes, sir.” She reached for the tray against the wall and prepared a vial. “I don’t even know if this will work,” she responded, barely above a whisper. “Giving adrenaline is bad for the brain and his heart is still working so-”
He watched her carefully, letting his expression do the talking. Then she injected it into the line.
“How long?” he asked.
“Maybe … never?”
He nodded. “I’ll wait. You’re dismissed.” He folded his arms and focused all his attention on the visitor. When he heard the door slide behind him, he gave it to the count of ten and then turned to rummage around for smelling salts.
After another count of ten, he broke open the salts, waving it under the man’s nose. Nothing. Al shook the man and finally slapped him on the cheek, hard. That finally did it and Jesús’ eyes fluttered open. The confusion quickly turned to alarm and Al tossed the smelling salts towards the tray, not even noticing when they fell short and rolled underneath the cart.
“Jesús,” he said, his voice like steel, “we need to have a talk about you and Raul.”
Jesús cowered against the bed and whimpered. “Madre de dios,” he murmured. “Don’t hurt me.”
“I’m making no promises,” Al continued, his words measured, designed to put fear into the other man’s heart. “We know you murdered Vincent Torelli.”
“No, no, no!” Jesús’ hands came up defensively and he tried to scramble off the bed, but Al took hold of a fistful of fermi suit and held him still. “I didn’t!”
Al pulled him an inch closer. “You did. You murdered him. We know you did. We found the other bullet and it came from your gun.”
“No, no, please!” Jesús tugged at Al’s fist, but the admiral’s grip was like iron, fueled by a rage that was only barely kept in check. “I didn’t-”
“Stop lying to me,” Al growled. “You killed the priest and you’re going to tell me exactly what happened that day. I’m running out of time and so are you. You are going to die either way, Jesús. You’re going to die in the chair like the scum you are so you may as well tell me. Maybe you can avoid dying like a coward.”
Al’s heart was racing, his breathing fast and heavy. At that moment, he wasn’t even certain what lengths he was prepared to go to get the answers he needed. The knowledge that he couldn’t kill the man without doing harm to Sam was a bit of a comfort: it created a line in the sand he wouldn’t dare cross. But every denial that came from Jesús’ mouth made him think of Sam’s eyes in that jail cell. It made his heart clench in fear and the knuckles of his fist whiten.
Jesús trembled and then seemed to understand the truth was his only way out of this. “I killed him – I killed the priest, God have mercy on me…”
Al squinted. “What do you mean you killed him?”
“I shot him. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the man wailed.
“What do you mean you killed him?” Al pulled him closer still. “What about Raul?”
“It was me.” His sobs made his words almost incoherent and Al eased up a bit on the fermi suit, hoping it would make him talk faster. “I robbed the poor box and went back for me gun, huh? I’m sorry, please God, I’m sorry!”
Al released him, shoving him back hard on the gurney. “You bastard,” he fumed. “You let Raul die with you. You bastard!” Rage momentarily got the better of him and he raised his fist to strike. Jesús threw up his hands and cowered behind them. Al froze, feeling the blood rushing through his veins, wanting to take some kind of revenge.
But this wouldn’t help Sam. And time was running out.
The admiral held still for another few heartbeats and then lowered his fist. “You’re going to get what you deserve,” Al told him. “I’ll see to it.” Disgust flooded his expression, and he turned on his heel and marched out of the Waiting Room to see what the others had found out.
May 1971
Tallahassee, FL
Al entered the past armed with the information the team had uncovered and saw the face of his friend twisted in panic, unbridled fear. Sam was already strapped in; gentle wasn’t going to reach him. Sam was edging past reason.
Al pulled out the admiral instead, the man used to being obeyed. “Tell them you wanna confess,” he said firmly. It wasn’t working. “Tell them you wanna confess!” he ordered again, louder, finally breaking through the fear.
Sam parroted the words Al had dragged from Jesús, making the confession the man should have made long ago.
“But Raul was not there,” Al continued, now a bit more calmly. “You were here to save Raul.”
Sam’s eyes lightened. Relief poured from his posture and Al felt it in his own gut. This was the answer. The leaper repeated the words, confessing for the man who had been too cowardly to do it himself. Confidence and strength were returning to his tone. They were almost there.
When Sam paused for more information, Al continued, his ire rising again. “Now Raul is just part of the reason you’re here. The other reason is to take down Theodore Moody,” he said angrily. He told Sam of the bribe Donna had discovered, of the involvement of the district attorney. With each word Sam breathed, he started to feel calmer.
Once the commotion in the gallery had died down, he started the litany of good news, telling his friend the results of the explosive revelations. “Raul gets released and he’s living with his daughter in Florida,” he began. “Ripley and Moody see their reputations go right down the toilet with the bullet, and Tearsa reopens the four remaining cases on death row and gets two of them overturned for insufficient evidence. She turns out to be a good lawyer.”
Then he noticed the actions of those around Sam and the sense of relief fled as quickly as it had come. Sam hadn’t leaped and they were resuming preparations for the execution.
Sam looked up into his eyes. “It’s time to go home, Al?” he said hopefully.
Desperation swirled around the two men as the observer started to yell, in vain, at the men manipulating the machines. They were still going to kill Sam – had they missed something?
They put the helmet on, the covering over Sam’s mouth. Sam looked at him with wide eyes, terrified.
“Hey, Sam, Leap!” Al cried desperately. “Sam, leap!” Sam looked at the observer, his expression pleading for help. There was nothing Al could do. All he could do was yell at people who couldn’t hear him. He was going to watch his friend die. Oh, God, no! The man in the booth reached for the switch. “Don’t touch that thing! Leap, Sam, leap!” He kept crying out, as helpless as Sam was.
The lever was lowered and power began to soar around them, making Al’s hair stand on end. He continued to cry out, for all it was worth, gesturing wildly. Then, abruptly, there was silence.
The hologram around Al faded mid-plea and he found himself back in an empty Imaging Chamber. He held his breath, waiting, and then Ziggy’s sultry voice filled the void. “Dr. Beckett has leaped.” He let the breath go, the reprieve making him dizzy.
Al glanced at the chair he kept in the Chamber; it was about six feet away. He barely made it.
He collapsed into it, his body trembling, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding out his hands in front of his face. They shook uncontrollably.
“Dammit,” he whispered. “That was too close.”
He couldn’t stand, he knew, not until the shaking eased off, so he sat there in the stillness, trying to erase the picture of Sam’s face that hovered like an afterimage in his mind. Sam had faced down guns, bombs, and an irate lion, but nothing compared to that expression on his face – the absolute pure horror and pleading for Al to do something – anything – to help. It wasn’t just the fear: it was the element of helplessness that went with it.
Al ran his hands through his hair and rested his palms against the back of his neck, remaining in that position for several long minutes until he heard the Door open.
“Al?” Verbena’s gentle sotto tones sounded in the room. “Are you okay?”
He dropped his hands, but his head remained bowed. “Are the speakers on?” he asked, hearing the trembling in is voice match that of his body.
“No.” He heard the soft, static sound of movement as she moved nearer to him. “We turned them off when Sam leaped.”
He looked up at her, still feeling vulnerable from the leap but knowing she wouldn’t take advantage of it. He’d learned to trust her, after all these years. “How can whatever has been leaping him around in the name of good be such a nozzle?” he demanded, his tone sharp and cutting.
She cocked her head, crystal drop earrings glittering in the light as they swung from side to side. “What do you mean?”
He rose to his feet, punctuating his words with choppy motions. “Why do this to him? Why wait to leap him out?”
She winced. “Maybe … to give Jesús the freedom from the fear of-”
“Bullshit,” he interjected sharply. He turned from her and stared at the blue walls. “Jesús was a murderer, a true son-of-a-bitch. He murdered two people.”
“One,” she responded.
He spun back towards her. “Two,” he corrected, punctuating his words with two fingers extended upwards. “He killed the priest and he killed his friend. Have you forgotten why Sam leaped in?” He started to pace, short, brusque movements, his heels clacking on the smooth surface. “He could have said anything at any time. He pulled Raul away from his daughter for years while he sat on death row for a crime Jesús knew he didn’t commit. Jesús knew he was gonna die – he took his friend with him for no other reason than he didn’t want to be alone. I say the chair was too damned good for him. That is the man you think deserves to be spared some pain and fear?” She opened her mouth to reply but he raged on. “You think Sam Beckett deserved that?”
She closed her mouth and sighed.
Al continued undeterred. “I mean, for God’s sake, he leaped in the same way, Beeks! Tied down to an electric chair. And he was all alone.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “What was the point of that? Just to scare the hell out of him?”
“I don’t know, Al…” Her face was a mask of sorrow.
He spun on his heel as he paced. “Sam is the kindest, gentlest man I know. Can you imagine leaping in like that? Can you imagine the terror of waking up, strapped down, not knowin’ if death is coming in a few seconds, knowin’ you’ve done nothing to deserve it?”
She folded her hands in front of herself. “No, I can’t imagine,” she said, her voice still quiet.
He stopped pacing and nailed her with a look so intense that she took an involuntary step backwards. “I can,” he said. “I know what that feels like. And there was no reason to make Sam feel that. None. Unless God or Fate or Time or Whatever gets its jollies that way.” He wiped a hand across his face. “Sometimes I think these crazy spots he leaps into are to help him loosen up, relax a little. But this? This is just cruel.”
“I don’t know why things happen the way they do. I wish I had an answer for you. It’s horrible…”
“It’s despicable. It’s abhorrent. It’s … there’s not a word in the dictionary for it,” he seethed. “We’ve been operating under the assumption that there is a benevolent force controlling these leaps. We’ve seen the amount of good we’ve been able to achieve. We’ve seen lives saved, dreams fulfilled, relationships healed… So why, through all this, does Sam have to take on moments like this for other people?”
“It’s not fair,” she murmured.
“Don’t patronize me, Beeks!” He glared at her, furious. He wanted an answer, an answer nobody had. He wanted someone to pay, needed someone to explain to him why his friend had to be the universe’s punching bag.
“I’m not,” she said softly and he paused to look at her with something other than hurt. “I don’t know why, Al. I agree with you.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t Verbena’s fault. It wasn’t her doing that put Sam into these situations. It wasn’t her fault that leaps like this gave Al nightmares for weeks. She had no idea he kept a spare fermi suit in his quarters, that once or twice he’d even considered leaping, just to give Sam a break.
Al stopped pacing and clenched his hands into fists. “Sam is a good man, Verbena,” he said, almost gently, a sharp contrast to his earlier tone. It seemed like he wanted to say more, but then just shook his head sorrowfully and walked out.
The Door closed behind him and Verbena Beeks sighed heavily. “So are you, Al.”