To Reach Out And Touch
The pain was intense, sudden and sharp... almost like being thrown into a sea of icy cold water. It stole his breath and left him gasping as he slammed back against the dirty wall and slowly slid down as his legs gave way.
The angle he found himself in was odd, the world floating past on its side. He could see a pair of feet approach him, but was totally unable to move his head to glance up at the body that now loomed over him.
He felt hands grip at his arm and roughly pull him over so that he was lying on his back. He cried out in pain, but it emerged as a stifled whimper. He could vaguely see the face that leered over him; the light was poor and the body above him blocked what meagre light dipped into the ally from the main street a few hundred yards away. Sam could tell that it was not an evil face, but it was cold: the eyes were narrow slits, the lips just a thin line under the wispy moustache that was trying vainly to grow upon the upper lip. He could tell that his attacker was not older than twenty.
Sam whimpered again as the hands roughly searched his body. He wanted to draw in a deep breath, wanted to be able to just breathe, but every gasping action sent shivers of agony through his already tortured mind. His last leap had ended in the middle of a cornfield, as he'd kissed his borrowed body's girlfriend and had set them on the path of a happily married life together... as far removed from this reality as it was possible to be.
"Where the hell is it, you bastard?" the mugger snarled as he rose from his rifling with only a few dollars for his pains. He shot a look down the narrow passage back toward the main road, as a door opening further up the alley deposited a drunk on to the street, who wavered his way towards the road singing at the top of his voice.
"Get away from him, you slime ball," a familiar voice hurled across the song the drunk was singing. Sam let his eyes slip across the alley to rest upon Al, his holographic companion. The smaller man was leaping from side to side at a frantic pace as he spat out insults and obscenities at the man who had shot his friend.
The robber was unable to see or hear Al and he walked right through the man as he headed toward the end of the alley, his nerve having been shaken by the appearance of the drunk. He didn't even look back at the man he had just shot. Within seconds he had departed, after casually tucking his hands into his pockets against the cold wind that howled down the narrow passageway.
"Al," Sam gasped, his pain totally complete now that he had been left alone to die in the dirt and urine, only belatedly realising that the latter smell originated from him.
"Oh Sam," Al cried as he knelt down beside his friend's head and tried to reach out to hold him, to comfort him. "I tried to get here as soon as I could," he continued, totally helpless against his companion's suffering, as he watched the blood continue to seep from his friend's body.
Al suddenly stood up and cried, "Gooshi... do something." After a short pause where he tilted his head and listened intently, he continued, "No, damn it... Sam's bleeding to death here." As he spoke, he glanced down and noted with a jerk of fear that Sam had slipped into unconsciousness.
A noise behind him caused Al to spin about. His breath caught in his throat as he saw a small, fragile looking boy standing a few feet away. He looked no older than nine, yet his eyes reflected a lot more years of pain.
"Get an ambulance," Al yelled at the boy, knowing even as he spoke that the youth was too old to hear him.
The boy cautiously moved forward, almost crab-like as he edged towards the man laying upon the floor. He kept looking about nervously as he did so, like he was expecting to be attacked for his daring to come so close to the victim.
Al watched all this with a hopeless feeling swelling within his gut. "Help him," he pleaded once again, wishing just this once that he was able to communicate with the people who surrounded Sam during his leaps.
The boy squatted down and, reaching out a hand, slowly began to search the unconscious man. "What the hell!" cried Al in total disgust as he watched the young hands skilfully slip in and out of the already empty pockets of his friend. Once the search was completed, the boy sat back and looked at the injured man.
"Help him, you little shit, otherwise... so help me, I'll find you and kick your slimy butt all over the State," Al snarled, bending down over the boy.
The lad paused, then - licking at his lips - he slowly reached out a filthy hand and pressed it against the downed man's neck. He snatched it away as if he had been burned when he felt the feeble thread of a pulse. He swallowed hard and licked more feverishly at his lips as he scanned the alleyway, then, standing, he began to back away.
Al watched him begin to flee with a sinking feeling. His last chance to save his friend was slowly slipping back up the alleyway. The boy was near the entrance of the passage before he spun about and ran from the scene.
Al wanted to cry, but he had long since lost the ability to let his emotions out in that manner. Instead, he knelt again and began to talk to his friend. He knew that the words he said were inconsequential, but he wanted to feel that if Sam could hear anything, it would be the voice of a friend.
His voice was becoming dry and he was running out of the energy needed to speak past the lump that was forming in his throat. Suddenly the alley was alive with police and an ambulance. Al jumped to his feet and leapt out of the way as Sam was quickly and efficiently checked over and loaded upon a stretcher. As the ambulance slowly began to pull away, Al noticed the small boy standing near the entrance of the alleyway, almost peering round the corner. Although he desperately wanted to ride in the ambulance with his friend, he felt that he couldn't pass the boy without thanking him for what he had done.
"Thank you," he whispered as he reached the boy who was watching the ambulance disappear along the road. Al began to poke at his handlink. "Gooshi, centre me on Sam," he said.
Just as he disappeared, the boy said, "What the hell - it was only a dime," before he turned and walked slowly along the sidewalk. He pulled his small jacket more firmly about his thin, fragile body and suppressed the shiver that never seemed to leave him during the winter months as he wondered about the two strange men he had seen in the alleyway.
***
Sam's mouth was dry. He realised with a shiver of surprise that his mouth had been dry for as long as he could remember, and he had not been able to tell anyone about it. He feebly licked at his lips, desperately wanting to ask for a drink, but the effort took more energy than he had.
"Sam?" a familiar voice questioned. He fought to open his eyes as he recognised the tone and waited impatiently as his eyes struggled to stay in focus. "Sam," the voice repeated, this time with a hint of pleasure as the speaker realised that the man could actually hear him and was fighting to stay conscious this time. "Sam... that's right, buddy, try to keep those baby blues open."
"Al," he gasped as he recognised the concerned face before him. "Al... what happened?" he began, but had to stop as his throat objected against the loss of moisture that speaking caused, and a hacking cough ripped through his body, causing incredible pain to flash over his mind. He groaned and wished that he could slip back into unconsciousness again.
"So... you're back with us, Mr Connor," a strange voice roughly butted in, as a straw was held to Sam's lips. It took only a second for him to realise that the straw meant water, and he was soon eagerly sucking at the contents of the plastic cup. "Easy... easy, Mr Connor," the voice cautioned as the straw was gently pulled away. "Not too much... otherwise you'll just throw it up again."
"Where am I?" Sam managed to gasp, his attention fixed upon his friend who was standing at the base of the bed, looking worriedly from the patient to the nurse.
"County General," the nurse stated as she turned and placed the beaker back on the side table - then, moving about, she began to check the intravenous drip and, finally, take his temperature. As she did so, she continued, "You've been out nearly three days - you are one determined person, Mr Connor... I would have said that you were a goner for sure when they brought you in here."
"What happened?" Again this question was directed at his holographic friend, but the nurse answered.
"Well, the police said that you were mugged." She paused as she considered her words carefully, before finishing, "Look... I think your doctor will be able to explain it better."
"Al?" Sam pleaded after the woman had left the room.
"You really had me worried there, Sam," Al stated as he refused to meet the other's look, choosing to play with the handlink instead, which squealed at his rough treatment. Before Sam could speak, Al hurried on, "Your name's Joseph Connor; you're thirty-five years old and you were shot... late last night." He glanced up and continued, "The police are calling it a mugging."
"Why am I here?" Sam was fighting against the urge to just close his eyes and let sleep pull him away from the dull, burning ache just below his ribcage.
Al looked at his friend's tired, worn features and consider postponing the talk, but Sam slowly opened his eyes, his look demanding an answer. Al sighed and finally spoke: "Connor died of a heart attack just after he was shot... you leaping into his body prevented that from happening."
"Heart attack?" Sam gasped, eyes opening wider in shock as the words sank in.
"Yes... the actual wound wouldn't have killed Connor, although you did lose a lot of blood - you should recover fairly quickly," Al hastened to reassure before he continued, "but Connor had a weak heart, and the shock of getting shot was just too much for it."
"Heart attack..." Sam repeated, annoyed for a reason he couldn't explain. He pulled back on his emotions and asked instead, "So, if I've done what I came here to do... why haven't I leapt?" He tried to keep the grouchiness out of his voice, but failed miserably.
Al licked at his lips and answered slowly, looking at his handlink as he did so, "There was a young boy... he was in the alley after you were shot.... I believe that it was him who called the police and ambulance." He stopped, his agitated actions telling Sam that there was more to the story.
"And...?" Sam asked, not liking the way Al was acting.
"He's disappeared... and, well... Ziggy thinks that it's got something to do with the fact that he called in help for you."
"What?" Sam tried to sit up, but his wound refused to let him get that energetic and he winced in pain, lying gasping for breath until the world stopped spinning. He frowned as he heard Al rebuke him for his rash actions. "What the hell am I supposed to do from a hospital bed?" Sam finally grated from behind gritted teeth. Al let out a sigh and returned his glance towards the handlink. Sam noticed the pale, tired, drawn features of his friend for the first time and realised that the man had been by his side since he had been shot. Seeing the confusion and pain in Al's face, he continued, his voice softer, "I'm sorry, Al, I guess I just need a bit more time to recover."
The holographic image leapt upon the other's words and stated, "Yeah Sam, that's right... you get some rest. Like I said, you lost a fair amount of blood and it's going to be at least a day or two before you're well enough to get out of this joint."
"What about the boy?" Sam asked vaguely as he felt sleep begin to steal over him. Bravely he fought against it, but he never won and Al found himself looking down at his sleeping friend.
"Don't you worry, Sam, you just get some rest... I'm working on finding the boy," he answered before he noticed that the man couldn't hear him. Turning, he punched a few buttons on the handlink and waited as the Imaging Chamber door opened up before him. As he went through, he snapped out an answer to a question that only he could hear... "Yes, I know I've been over thirty-six hours without sleep, but we've got to find that boy. Now, has Ziggy loaded that information...?" Anything further was cut off as the door slid closed.
***
Al appeared in a darkened warehouse. Although the sun was high in the sky, the light couldn't penetrate the dirt that was encrusted upon the skylights in the ceiling.
He paused for a moment and glanced down at the handlink, checking his information, then - looking about again - he turned a slow circle before he began to move cautiously across the floor, choosing to step around the objects that lay strewn about.
A sudden burst of laugher caught his attention and, turning, he headed in that direction. Without pausing, he walked right through the wall, his attention fixing immediately upon the huddled body of the youth he was seeking. The boy was sporting a black eye and a split, bleeding lip as he cowered further back in the corner he was trapped in by the two huge brutal-looking men who loomed over him.
"You called the police, you little bastard," one of them accused, his face twisting as he spat the words out.
"No," the boy cried, keeping his head down - raising it would only earn him another slap. "I didn't - I swear I didn't.
"Don't lie to me," a third voice snapped from a chair near the door. Spinning, Al saw the man who had shot Sam.
"No," the boy wailed again, his tone muffled by the arm of his jacket that was covering his mouth as he tried to protect himself. "I swear, I just turned him to see if he had any money on him. He was dead... I thought he was," he corrected as he concentrated on getting his words out, the fear almost making this one simple action impossible.
"I saw you come out of the alley and go to the phone on the corner." The man stood and walked slowly towards the trembling boy. "Who were you calling... your mother?" he finished sarcastically, as he bent down and slapped the boy hard about the head.
This action caused the youth to yelp and shake even more as he began to cry uncontrollably. The mugger looked down at the boy in disgust before he turned and said, "Get the useless little brat out of my sight."
"Do you want us to finish him, Mr Brent?" one of the gorillas asked, reaching for the youth.
"No... just lock him in the freezer. I still want some answers out of him." Brent watched as the boy was lifted by one of the men and bodily carried from the room. He suppressed his anger and said to the remaining man, "Connor never had it on him when I searched him - but I could have missed it, and I think that little shit found it and has hidden it."
"But, Mr Brent, he would have told you if he had it - he's way afraid of you."
Brent looked at the man before him and raised an eyebrow. He wondered if the man's intelligence actually reached double figures. "Connor had that picture on him when he left the office. It's way too important for him not to use it... damn Darlington for letting him get away during the drug deal."
"Darlington's feeding the fish just like you wanted, Mr Brent," the Neanderthal stated, his pride in his ability to carry out this action clear in his tone.
"Yes, Jack, I know, but that damned reporter Connor still has those pictures of me with him," Brent snapped, his anger almost robbing him of his usual cool reasoning.
Al was listening to the interchange with growing confusion and fear. Ziggy had not mentioned the fact that Connor was a reporter, nor that his death had been anything other than a result of his mugging. Glancing down at the handlink, he began to give instructions: "Gooshi, you tell that jumped up Commodore 64 that I want some answers on this new information, and I want it now."
He headed out of the room, continuing as he moved, "Centre me on the boy, Gooshi." He appeared just outside an old freezer. He paused as the lumbering gorilla of a man checked that the door was locked and made his way slowly back to the office that held his boss. "You nozzle," Al hissed as the man passed.
The inside of the freezer was black - not just dark, but pitch... the absence of light so total that it made Al shiver as he thought of a grave. The sound of crying was the first thing that Al heard, and his heart went out to the sobbing boy who had saved the life of his friend. "Don't you worry, kid," he stated firmly. "I'm going to get you out of this."
"Who's there?" a tearful voice demanded, followed by a scurrying sound as the boy tried to move away, and Al knew beyond his shock that the boy had heard him.
"I'm a friend," he hurried to reassure. "I'm here to help you." It was no longer a working freezer - the electric had long since been cut off - but the smell of past death, Al was sure, hung heavily about the room.
"No... no one can help me now," came the weak reply, the beaten boy no longer able to summon up the energy to fight his tormentors. "Look, if Mr Brent sent you..." he let the words hang, "I didn't take nothing off that man... I swear." As he ended, he began to whimper again. "Please, I just want to be left alone... I don't know nothing."
Al felt his heart lurch at the words the boy spoke, and felt the slow burning of hatred for the man who had caused this lad such pain. It started in his soul and spread out until it encased his heart. "Don't you worry, son... I am here to help you... trust me on that."
***
Al awoke with a start. He was on his feet before he realised that he was in his own office in the underground complex of the Quantum Leap project. He had not realised that he had fallen asleep, but his body had obviously, finally, won the fight to gain the much-needed rest he required.
Slamming at the intercom that connected him to the main lab, he yelled angrily, "Gooshi, I thought I told you not to let me sleep."
"Dr Gooshi has retired for the night, Admiral Calavicci," Ziggy's seductive tones came back over the line.
Al took a few moments to digest that information. He had stayed with the boy until the lad had fallen into an exhausted sleep. They had spent much of the time talking, and Al had learned that the boy's name was Geoffrey Collins, that he was fifteen years old, and about his life on the streets. Slowly he had discovered the desperate situation that had caused Geoffrey to flee his home, and Al, in return, had hesitantly begun to talk about himself - his past - knowing that only by sharing his own pain would he ever be able to win the boy's trust. He had even confided in the boy about the project, Quantum Leap, using it as an example that you could make good if you really, really tried and wanted it badly enough. Al was surprised that the lad just accepted the fact that he was a hologram, but then Al surmised that the boy was in a state of shock and would have accepted almost anything - as long as it was not followed by a punch.
Once Geoffrey had fallen asleep, Al had returned to the upstairs office in the warehouse. He discovered that Brent had left for the night and the boy would be safe until early afternoon. He had then centred back on Sam and noted with satisfaction that he was still sleeping and was likely to stay that way for the remainder of the night.
Seeing that his friend was in safe hands, Al wearily returned to the project centre, then - after royally chewing off Ziggy's computer components - he had spent twenty minutes in the retrieval chamber with Joseph Connor before he had stormed out of the room, leaving a slightly shocked Dr Beeks in his wake. He had then retired into his office to do some research of his own. The slamming of his office door had warned others not to approach without personal invitation.
"You should have woken me hours ago," he snapped at the computer, not pleased that he might have slept past Brent's returning for the boy. As he spoke, he began to reach for his jacket which he had flung carelessly over the back of his office seat.
"The boy is still sleeping, Admiral Calavicci, as is Dr Beckett... and Mr Brent is still at his home address," Ziggy stated firmly, before adding smugly, "Involved in a business meeting that is due to last most of the day."
"You still should have woken me," Al grumbled. He was in no mood to argue with the computer, but he was not going to let it have the last word either.
"Dr Beeks said you were to sleep for at least six hours, Admiral Calavicci."
"Dr Beeks is not head of this project, Ziggy." He paused, then added with a touch of venom, "Nor can she pull the plug on you... unlike me." When the computer did not reply, the man realised with a feeling of shocked achievement that he might just have got the last word. He started to feel slightly better. "So, what have you found out about Brent and Connor?" he asked as he placed his jacket back on the chair and slowly sat down, wishing that he had a cup of strong black coffee to go with the up-coming discussion.
"Joseph Connor worked in the post room of the Chicago Post National newspaper for eight years before his attack by Mr Brent," Ziggy began, going back over the information that had already been fed to Al while he was on the leap. Then the voice altered slightly as the computer continued, "Unbeknown to us and the rest of the world, Mr Connor had an..." a slight pause before Ziggy chose the word best suited for the situation, "alter ego...."
Al sat up straighter in his chair. "And...?" he finally snapped as the pause became longer than his patience.
"At night he was a freelance reporter for the same newspaper, writing under the name of Simon Defraud."
"Simon Defraud," Al gasped, picking up a cigar and sticking it unlit into his mouth. "How can the guy get away with a name like that?"
"Quite successfully, apparently," Ziggy answered coolly. "He was credited with destroying four corrupt senators and a number of... underworld kingpins."
Al frowned; it was obvious to him that the computer was enjoying the revealing of the secret life of the man that Sam had leapt into, and he wondered worriedly if Gooshi had given Ziggy access to any old gangster movies. The last time the computer had tied into a movie theme during a leap, it had been weeks before the machine refused to stop talking like the Three Stooges. The Admiral shivered at the thought of Ziggy taking on the persona of James Cagney.
"His latest fight against crime was against one Henry Darlington, whose body was discovered eight days after Connor's death - it washed up on a beach near..."
Al waved that fact aside. "I heard about that last night," he stated slowly. "Brent said something about photographs of him and Darlington... during a drug deal, or something. I guess that Connor was following Darlington and got some photos that Brent didn't want to be common knowledge." He leant back in his chair and wiped at his eyes, surprised at how tired he still felt, even after his few hours' sleep. "Alright," he went on, "so now we know that Connor's death was not a mugging, and that Geoffrey has walked right into the middle of a dog-fight."
"I have no record of a Geoffrey Collins in my files," Ziggy put into the conversation, sounding almost disappointed with the last bit of information.
Al nodded his head slowly and stated with knowledge born of intimate detail, "That might not be his real name - a lot of the kids on the street pick up new names so that, if the police pick them up, it's harder to place them back with their parents."
"Dr Beeks has requested an interview with you before you return to the Imaging Chamber," the computer said. "She has been working with Mr Connor during the night and has some relevant information."
Admiral Calavicci glanced at his watch: it was ten-eleven. "I'll just wash up and change. Have her in my office in, say... fifteen minutes."
"As you wish, Admiral," Ziggy purred.
Al considered smart-mouthing the computer, but then realised that he really did not have the energy. Standing, he made his way to the washroom that was attached to his office.
Fifteen minutes later, Al was sitting back behind his desk, showered and dressed in a new set of clothes, a cup of hot black coffee in his hand as he contemplated the full plate of breakfast that had appeared with his ordered coffee.
The door opened and a deeply rich voice advised, "You'd better be thinking of cleaning that plate."
Al looked up and smiled at Dr Beeks. She returned the smile and made her way over to the seat in front of his desk.
Al began to pick at the food and asked, "Ziggy said you had some news on Mr Connor?"
Beeks looked down at her notepad and nodded. "Yes... once we'd convinced him that we were not working for Mr Brent or the FBI, he confirmed the story about the picture. It was taken two days ago, during a drug deal." She paused and waited for him to swallow another mouthful before she continued, "It was as you suspected."
"Damn," Al countered, tossing his knife and fork down upon the tray. "Why the hell do they always do this to us?"
"They?" Beeks asked, raising a pretty eyebrow.
Al gave her a sharp look, which switched into a powerful glare when he saw that she had her work face on. "Them... they... whoever is tossing Sam about in this crazy leap."
"Oh... that them," Beeks returned with a slight smile, very familiar with Al's theory of who was really directing Sam's leaps.
"I'm going to need Sam's help," Al advised. "How fit is he really?"
Beeks became all business-like again. "Well, while he did lose a fair amount of blood, the injury in itself was not too dangerous. He'll be weak, but as long as you're not asking him to leap tall buildings or run a marathon, Mr Connor will make a full recovery.... I would say that Sam's at about 65-75% ability at the moment."
"Great," Al said, leaning back and closing his eyes. He pushed the tray of food further from his position. "I need him to help me get the boy out of the warehouse." His face was almost grey with fatigue.
Beeks allowed a frown of concern to whisper across her face, but it had faded by the time the admiral opened his eyes and looked directly across the desk at her. "You really need slightly more than four hours' sleep and half a breakfast, Admiral," she advised, pointedly turning her gaze upon the barely eaten food.
"Once the boy's safe and Sam's leapt, then I'll take a decent rest." Seeing the look of disbelief that crossed the pretty woman's face, Al shot back with impish charm, "I cross my heart and hope not to leave Tina's side of the bed for a week."
Beeks opened her mouth to comment on that remark, but it was left unsaid as Ziggy suddenly burst into life. The computer's manner and tone bespoke of efficiency as it reported, "Dr Beckett is regaining consciousness, Admiral."
That was Al's cue to move. He headed out of the door with a "Keep me informed if Mr Connor says any more... and try to find out where those damned photos are." He didn't hear Beeks' reply, and within minutes he was seated beside Sam, watching eagerly as the man fought his way to full consciousness.
"Hi," Al said gently, leaning over and smiling as Sam's eyes slowly opened.
The man being addressed licked at his lips before he smiled and answered, "Hi yourself."
"How are you feeling?" Al's tone was one of gentle concern.
Sam responded to the enquiry with sleepy determination: "Not too bad." He smiled a little, and Al realised with a shock that Sam was still suffering the after-effects of the drug that he had been given for the pain.
Al smiled again, this time more broadly, as he commented, "You look like you're pretty high yourself, Sam."
"Nurse gave me a shot early this morning," Sam agreed with a relaxed giggle. "Don't feel too bad at all."
Al laughed out loud at the silly grin that was melting across his friend's face. "I bet you don't." He stood back as a nurse approached and kept quiet while the woman performed her job. A few minutes later they were alone again.
"Sam..." Al said, coming back to stand beside the bed. "Sam... I need you to do me a really big favour."
"You ask it, you've got it," Sam said, prying open an eye and watching his friend. Al knew that it was mainly the drug talking, but Sam had never let him down to date.
"Sam, do you remember me telling you about that young boy who called the ambulance for you last night?" Al continued.
"Yes," Sam said, frowning as he recalled the conversation. "He's disappeared, hasn't he?"
"Yes, that right," Al pushed on eagerly. "But I've found him... he's in deep, deep trouble and he needs our help."
"Our help?" Sam asked, becoming more awake with each word. "What do we have to do?"
"He's being held in a warehouse owned by Peter Brent." He paused while Sam pushed himself up more in the bed, wincing in sympathy as the younger man groaned and gripped at the bandage that crossed his upper chest. "Dr Beeks said that you're at about 75% ability," he added helpfully.
Sam gave Al a dirty look and said, "I take it that Dr Beeks has never been shot."
Al pulled a face and admitted slowly, "I doubt it, but Sam that boy really... really needs our help."
"Oh Al," Sam accused, "put those pleading eyes away, please - you know I'll do anything I can to help... but how am I going to get out of here?" Sam was slowly pushing back the bedclothes even as he spoke.
"Your clothes are in that cupboard," Al offered, pointing to the one in question. "And you just walk out," he finished. "You're quite able to discharge yourself."
"Bet I'll have an armful of paperwork to sign out on that one," Sam muttered to himself.
Al nodded in agreement before he advised, "You're right... it might be better if you just sneak out." He ground to a halt as Sam looked up from trying to get a sock on and glared at him. "Mr Brent is going to talk to the boy in a few hours and, Sam, you can take my word for it that Mr Peter Brent's ability to talk without his fists is very... very limited."
Looking up, Sam saw a shadow of an old, haunted fear reflected in Al's eyes and wondered at the look. In all the years he had known his friend, he had never seen such fear in his expression. "Call me a taxi," Sam finally said, wanting to lighten the mood, and smiled with satisfaction as Al forgot his holographic standing and started to leave the room, set upon his task.
"You're a taxi," the admiral shot back around a familiar smile. "Now get your lazy butt out of here."
***
Sam bit back the yelp of pain that rose to his lips as the taxi found yet another pothole to slip into. He shot a glance across at Al and saw that the man was concentrating too hard on the handlink to notice his friend's pain. Sam was glad in a way, for he knew that Al suffered much more from his injuries than the quantum physicist ever could physically.
"Tell him to turn left at the next corner, Sam," Al advised, never taking his eyes from the handlink.
"Go left at the next corner," Sam told the driver, who just shot him another hard look before muttering under his breath and doing as instructed.
"Pull over about forty yards down here," Al finished, before disappearing from the taxi and reappearing where he wanted Sam to stop.
Sam climbed from the cab and bit down on another surge of pain. He knew from the look upon the driver's face that he had overpaid the man, but he had just pulled a handful of bills from his wallet and told him to keep the change.
Sam straightened up slowly and, turning, took a long hard look at the derelict building. Then, glancing both ways down the street, he realised that it was totally empty. "Not one of your more choice locations," he commented as he followed his holographic friend into the building.
"He's in the freezer over there," Al said, pointing towards the back of the building. He disappeared, only to reappear a few seconds later. "There're two gorillas in the office upstairs, Sam," Al stated, following the other man as he stepped carefully over the debris that lay scattered about the empty warehouse.
"I'll just go in and tell him you're here," Al said slipping through the wall and into the dark interior of the freezer. A few seconds later he reappeared. "He's awake and..." the older man paused before adding in a muted tone, "he's really scared, Sam."
Sam shot Al a penetrating look, answering quietly as he removed the lock from the door, "Know the feeling."
The door slowly opened and Sam looked into the darkened depths. Suddenly Geoffrey appeared and, after giving Al a brief smile, turned his nervous glance upon the man who had come to rescue him. He gave a start of surprise when he recognised the man who had been shot the night before.
"It's alright," Sam encouraged. Licking at dry lips, he gave a smile. The boy, seeing the friendly light in the man's eyes, slowly smiled back. "We'd better get out of here," Sam advised in a hushed tone as he glanced nervously about the warehouse.
"This way," Al said, retracing their steps back towards the door they had used to enter the warehouse. As they walked, a noise from further ahead caused them all to pause. "A car..." Al commented, recognising the sound of an expensive motor as it echoed about the large building. "Here, Sam, hide in here," he pointed towards a large broken-down crate. "I'll go see what's happening." As he spoke he frowned, not liking the too-pale complexion of his friend, nor the mild film of perspiration that was gathering about his brow.
Sam opened his mouth to inform his friend that the crate in question was not large enough for them both, but had to pause as Geoffrey bolted into the darkened depths and, with a resigned sigh, the taller, larger man followed. Once inside, Sam was surprised to find that it was larger than he'd thought and he was able to crouch down beside the boy. Admittedly it was a tight fit, but - all things considered - it was a better option than being caught out in the open. He leant back against the rough wooden wall and tried to steady his breathing; the noise of each inhalation sounded incredibly loud to his own ears, and he wished that the nagging pain in his shoulder would just stop for a moment and allow him to gather a really deep breath. Reaching up, he pushed at his injury and winced at the pain this caused. Looking down, he noted with slight dismay the sticky texture of blood that covered his fingers.
"Must be Brent returning," Al said, having not seen Sam's actions. The injured man quickly wiped the blood from his hand and looked up expectantly as the hologram continued, "I'll be back in a minute."
"Wait..." Geoffrey cried as Al left. "Mr Brent will kill him," he hissed at Sam as the older man prevented him from going after Al.
"No.... No, it's alright... Al can look after himself," Sam advised, keeping a restraining hand upon the youngster's arm.
Geoffrey subsided and spent the next few minutes chewing at his fingernail.
"You know that's a bad habit," Sam commented in a hushed tone.
"So sue me," the lad shot back, his streetwise persona coming to the fore at being criticised by an adult.
"Sorry..." Sam said, realising how his words must have sounded.
"Do you two have to talk?" Al demanded as he reappeared. "I can hear you halfway across the warehouse," he exaggerated, before he shook the handlink out of habit and continued, annoyed that his escape plan was not going as intended, "Brent's gone up to the office. If you're going to make a run for it... now's your best time."
"Make a run for it?" Sam repeated, wincing at the mere thought of trying to rush with his recent injury.
"Sam..." Al continued, a look of pained sorrow filtering across his expression, "I'm sorry, but believe me - the alternative isn't to be considered."
"Alright," Sam griped as he left the shelter of the crate and began a slow trot towards freedom. He tripped over some fallen debris and felt a wrench, then stumbled to a halt as blinding pain coursed through him.
"Here," Geoffrey said, his tone one of growing concern as he realised that the other man as not as recovered from his injury as he had at first thought. "Let me help," he said, coming up behind Sam and lifting an arm over his own shoulder.
Sam contemplated telling the boy to go on ahead of him and get to safety, but even as he considered the thought, he realised that the lad was not likely to obey him, anyway. So he nodded his acceptance of the offered help, and they continued on their way at a much slower pace as the exertion began to catch up on the injured man.
Suddenly the door was before them and Sam gasped in relief as they burst into the watery sunlight of a winter's day. During their escape from the warehouse, Al had been right by their side, but now he faded from view as he went to check on the whereabouts of Brent and his henchmen. He re-appeared, yelling frantically, "Move it, Sam, the gorillas just found the boy missing."
These words gave both Sam and the boy a much needed burst of energy, and they reached the end of the warehouse and turned the corner. "We'd better find somewhere to hide," Sam gasped, knowing that he would not be able to go much further. Even as he spoke, he felt his legs give way and, with a cry of surprised alarm, he pitched to the ground.
Geoffrey tried frantically to help him get up, but Sam was wise enough to know when his body was telling him that he had pushed it well beyond its limit. He shoved the boy's helping hands aside and ordered instead, "Get help... call the police.... I'll try to... distract them.... Get help."
"But... but..." Geoffrey began to stutter, the tears clear to hear in his tone, "I can't...."
"Just do as he says," Al cried as he looked from his handlink, behind them and then back towards his friend.
The boy needed no further bidding and, after one final glance at the man who had risked his life for him, Geoffrey fled down the street. Within seconds, he had rounded another corner and was gone from sight.
Sam took a few more moments to gather his failing energy before he turned pain-filled eyes towards his friend. Al winced as he spied the fresh stain of blood that was slowly spreading across his friend's shirt. "You've got to move, Sam... try to hide," he advised, crouching down beside Sam, as if his sheer will alone could give the man the energy he needed to survive.
Sam swallowed convulsively, feeling bile rise within his throat and, raising a shaking hand to his injury, he struggled to his feet. He stumbled towards a nearby wall and leant gratefully against it, then - using it for support - he began to stagger along.
"Here, Sam, this alleyway... there's an open door further along here," Al encouraged as he moved slightly ahead of his friend, trying to find a safe place for him to hide. "You might be able to find a place to hide in there."
Suddenly a shout was issued behind him, and Sam knew that he had been spotted. Still he stumbled on, following Al's directions until he slipped on some loose rubble and pitched to the ground. The world darkened about him and he lay gasping, unable to respond to Al's frenzied cries for him to move.
When the pain faded enough for him to become aware of what was happening, he slowly opened his eyes and groaned as he saw the smiling face of his attacker from the night before leering down at him.
"It's really nice to see you, Mr Connor, or should I say Mr Defraud?" Brent snarled, poking viciously at the fallen man with his foot. "I'm looking forward to having a nice long talk with you about some photos."
"You hurt him and I swear I'm going to find and kill you," Sam could hear Al ranting in the background, but he found that his concentration was beginning to slip as a growing darkness began to gather about his senses.
As he began to fade into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness, he heard a set of footsteps approach at a run and another voice say, "I can't find the boy, Mr Brent."
"Never mind him, he's not going to tell anyone - animals like him just go back to the sewer where he came from. We'll pick him up later. For now, I want to talk to Connor... let's get him back to the warehouse."
Sam resisted the urge to cry out as he was hefted to his feet. He stood, swaying, as another man trotted up - it was obviously the other henchman that Al had told him about. The man was holding his gun and was slightly out of breath. "That boy's like a whippet, Mr Brent," he panted. "I thought I had him, but he ducked into a parking lot and I lost him."
"I said forget the damned boy," Brent snapped, his eyes never leaving the battered face of his enemy. "Come on," he snarled, grabbing at Sam's arm and starting to drag him along.
As they neared the end of the alleyway, the sound of a vehicle racing along the road reached Sam's ears. He looked up from his position between Brent and one of the henchmen and gasped in shocked surprise as a car rounded the corner at speed, heading directly towards them.
The guard who was free raised his gun and fired at the vehicle, but it didn't appear to have any effect as the car continued to head towards them. The henchman on Sam's left threw himself out of the way and Sam wisely followed. The car swung to the right, barely missing him, but it caught Peter Brent full on and sent him spinning up into the air, to land behind it like a puppet that had suddenly had its strings cut.
Sam didn't have time to react as the door of the car flew open and a sharp, youthful voice called, "In here, now!" Glancing up, Sam saw Geoffrey behind the wheel. He gasped in surprise and paused, shooting a look at the fallen, twisted body of Peter Brent.
"Get in, Sam," Al cried, moving to stand between his friend and the body.
Sam gave the fallen henchmen another look and could see that they were still in a state of shock: one was groaning from the injury that he had sustained while leaping to safety; the other was laying senseless upon some garbage cans.
"Sam!" Al cried again in desperation. "Get in the damned car."
This time the tone of his voice was not to be denied, and Sam acted out of instinct. The jarring of the door as it closed snapped him back to his senses and he reached for the handle, intending to get back out and check on Brent, but the car was already moving and he was forced back in his seat by the motion. Gasping in pain, he forced himself to stay conscious, even though he just wanted to close his eyes and let the past few hours of torment fade.
"We've got to go back," Sam gritted out from behind clenched teeth as they rounded the corner and Geoffrey picked up speed.
"You're kidding, right?" the boy said, shooting the injured man an incredulous look.
"No... we've got to go back...."
"Won't do any good, Sam," Al said from the back seat, his tone too serious for his words to be a lie, the finality behind them too real.
"Brent's dead then," Sam stated with a sickening feeling churning at his stomach. Slowly he turned to look at the youth who sat in the car beside him, the enormity of what the boy had done just dawning on him.
"It was him or us," Geoffrey replied matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes from the road. Sam might actually have believed that the boy was totally unconcerned if not for the white knuckles that held the steering wheel in a deathly grip. "Him or us," the boy repeated, as if trying to convince himself.
"Where are we going?" Sam asked, knowing that he was not in a fit state to handle the situation, to say the right words to the boy, to divert some of the guilt that he knew Geoffrey would suffer once the shock of killing a man had worn off. Even as he asked, he felt his senses starting to slip away.
"Anywhere that's away from here," Geoffrey said, driving the car with surprising skill. Then, shooting Sam a quick glance and noting the pale sweating, complexion, he continued, "I know a place... holiday camp... it's closed for the season." He paused when he realised that the man in the seat next to him was beyond hearing. "My dad and me used to go there...." He swallowed hard as unexpected emotions caught at him, and he pressed his lips together to prevent a whimper of weakness from expressing itself.
***
Sam groaned; it was a long, slow awakening that was hurting even more with every breath he took. He could not remember ever being in such pain... not just the throbbing from his recent bullet wound, but his muscles protesting any minute movement. He wanted to just slip back into the darkness that he had just departed.
"Sam?" a voice asked in grave concern. "Are you there, Sam? Can you hear me?" The tone was whispered, and the leaper slowly, unwillingly, opened his eyes to blink at his friend who sat beside him, almost hovering by the bed.
"Where's Geoffrey?" Sam asked, suddenly remembering the death of Peter Brent. As he asked, he struggled to sit up, realising that it was a rash thing to do as the world spun about him. He sank back to rest his head upon the dirty pillow with another moan, willing his unruly stomach to stop rebelling.
"Shush," Al cautioned, motioning to his lips with a finger to emphasise his point before he added, "He's asleep over there." The hologram pointed to a bed in the other corner of the room. The meagre light from the single bulb threw shadows about the area, but Sam could just make out the huddled figure of the boy.
"It happened, didn't it?" the injured man asked after a short pause, referring to the killing of Peter Brent.
"I'm sorry, Sam... I know how you feel about killing... but Geoffrey was right - it really was him or you."
"What happens now?"
Al looked at the man upon the bed and considered his answer very carefully, before he removed the unlit cigar he had been talking around and said slowly, "The photos will appear in tomorrow's papers..." He glanced down at the computer link, but Sam knew that he was not reading the information as his friend continued, "Brent's henchmen never come forward. Brent's death is considered just another unsolved hit-and-run and the case is closed. Geoffrey..." He paused and looked at the boy still asleep upon the bed. "He survives this, Sam.... Believe it or not, but it makes him stronger and he goes on to help a lot of other youngsters who are living off the street. Connor helps him; he gives Geoffrey the time to get over what he's suffered, helps him get the education that he needs, and even uses his pseudonym, Defraud, to highlight the problems of the other kids." He paused again, knowing how bad his friend felt about the death of Brent. "I know you won't agree with me, Sam, but I think it was for the best."
"For the best," Sam repeated, closing his eyes and seeing once more the twisted body of the drug dealer. With an effort he pushed the mental picture aside and, slowly opening his eyes again, he asked, "So why am I still here, Al?"
Al nodded his head slowly; this was the question he had expected Sam to ask, and he had been wondering that himself while he had sat the quiet night hours beside his friend, waiting for him to awaken. He had come up with only one theory, which he now put to his friend: "I think you're still here... because you needed to know how it would turn out."
"Turn out?" Sam queried, squinting up at his friend, noting how tired Al was looking and wondering what he could do ease his companion's heavy burden.
Al looked at Sam and realised with a start that he wanted so much to be able to just reach out and touch him, to just hold him the once - to smooth away all the pain his gentle, caring friend had had to suffer since he had started leaping. Instead, he put his feelings into his expression and voice as he said in a quiet tone, the words spoken to express the hug that he could never give while Sam was leaping, "You needed to know, Sam... you needed to know that Geoffrey would make it." He paused before adding, almost in a whisper, "That we're going to make it... we will get you home, Sam... one day... soon."
The tone of the words caught and held Sam. Glancing up, he gasped as he saw the look of total friendship that shone in Al's eyes and knew that - no matter how much pain he suffered - it was worth it... just to see the look of affinity that washed his friend's face. He opened his mouth but, before he could utter a word, he felt the familiar tingle as the blue light caught hold of him and swept him off to his next adventure.
THE END
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