By A Thread

A Quantum Leap fan work
by Ashe P. Kirk

Sam’s just doing what Ziggy told him, but it seems being in close proximity to his own younger self might be a little more dangerous than anyone realised— because Sam has accidentally got his younger self hit by a car.

Oh boy…

Length: approx. 23,000 words
(novella length)

Dedicated to myself,
because this was just some
glorious self-indulgence.

1. Terminally Good

Sam had become pretty used to applying makeup, but while it came easily to him, he never liked the idea that women were expected to do all these painstaking things to themselves just to be considered worthy of the world looking upon their otherwise ghastly faces. It was ridiculous.

On the other hand, the makeup in Yolanda Bennett’s bathroom was plentiful and well-used, so he figured she must enjoy it in some respect.

If he’d had to pick Yolanda’s colours himself, he might have made her look like a clown; he never really had a designer’s eye. But, fortunately, he could identify Yolanda’s preferences by the amount that was missing compared to the rest. Lipstick that was wittled to near unusable levels, eyeshadow with a deep ridge in its surface, where the applicator had been swept time and again.

As Sam completed the spread of the lipstick with a smack of his lips, he inspected his work. Yolanda’s medium-brown complexion was accented by a mauve over her eyes and lips.

Not a half-bad job if I do say so, Sam thought, batting his eyes into the mirror and assessing his choice of clothing: skin-hugging blue jeans, a pink tank top under a black designer leather jacket, high-heeled boots and a gold locket necklace around his neck. He was definitely getting better at this fashion thing, though he’d still had much less practice than most women, he assumed, whether those women liked it or not.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were enjoying this.”

Sam’s smile dropped as he spun around, eyeing Al.

“And just how long have you been behind me?” he asked flatly. Al didn’t cast a reflection, so it could have been five, maybe even ten minutes.

“Who me? I just got here,” said Al, with an innocent look. “Well, okay, I’ve been here long enough to see the kissy face you made. And hey, I ain’t judging. You look very pretty all dolled up.”

He leaned in, winking. “And, ah, so does your reflection.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he passed through the hologram in order to reach the door to leave. “Are you here just to make fun of me, or can I expect something productive to come out of this conversation? What am I doing here?”

“Who’s making fun?” said Al, waving around his cigar. “You know I used to be good friends with a drag queen — get to know enough exotic dancers, and you eventually meet a few gender benders in the mix.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, wondering where this was going.

“If you ever get home,” continued Al, “I should introduce you. Whole subculture there; you might find it fun. Big with the show tunes, and I know you like those.”

Al appraised Sam’s look. “You’d need to get a bit more creative, though. Drag style is a little more flamboyant — but hey, you got me to help with that.”

Sam didn’t have the patience to continue this line of conversation further. “Well, I’m never gonna get home if you don’t get to the point, Al.”

“Alright, crankypants.” Al poked a finger into his handlink, which responded with a wail. “Ziggy says you gotta meet some guy named Zach.”

There was a moment of silence, and Sam squinted. “Uh… where? When? Why?”

“Hold on, this brick’s on the fritz again.” Al pursed his lips as he gazed at the flashing handlink, before shaking it and jamming the heel of his hand into the side.

“Zachary Fernandez,” he finally continued. “He’s working at a grocery store across town. Looks like you gotta get him and Yolanda together so they go on to become… children…?” Al tilted his head.

“Become children?” Sam asked with confused exasperation.

Al smacked the handlink again. “Children’s entertainers. So they become children’s entertainers. This piece of junk needs a tune-up.”

“Okay, seems easy enough,” Sam said, rifling through Yolanda’s purse, before slinging it over his shoulder. “Where’s this store?”

“Oh, it’s a part of Boston you might remember, Sam: Main Street, Cambridge, near Lafayette Square.”

In other words, my old stomping grounds, thought Sam. And it’s 1972 — I could knock on my own door and meet my former self.

Sam couldn’t help but grin. Besides the time he leaped into the teenage Sam, this was definitely the closest he had ever gotten to crossing paths with himself.

Al narrowed his eyes. “Sam, I know what you’re thinking — and no.”

“Oh, I know,” Sam said, but his grin wasn’t going away. “But it sure will be nostalgic.”

*          *          *

Nostalgic it was. Sam’s smile returned as he wandered out of the subway station, up the stairs to the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the early seventies university district of Boston, Massachussetts. Where he and Professor LoNigro of the MIT Physics faculty had first developed his theory of time travel. And now, Sam was living it, via the shoes of a twenty-four year-old woman with a talent for absurd children’s rhymes.

He gazed around, watching the nerds and jocks pass him by. It was all so familiar. Intensely familiar. So familiar that he actually felt déjà vu.

Across the road, a group of students laughed and chatted. He didn’t understand why, but he knew that one of the women in the group was about to stop and tie her shoe. And then, a moment later, she did just that.

Disoriented, Sam began to approach the group, wondering why it was so familiar. As he crossed the road, he didn’t see the car barrelling toward him.

But someone else did.

“Look out!”

Sam felt himself being shoved back to the kerb as the screech of a car’s brakes filled his ears.

Sam sprawled against the sidewalk, grazing his palms on the concrete.

But that was inconsequential; in front of him, the man that had just saved his life, was unconscious on the road, having taken the impact in his place.

A 19-year-old Sam Beckett, surrounded by loose thesis papers, and bleeding from the head.

“Oh boy…”

2. Time’s Up

Sam scrambled to his teenage double, not bothering to get to his feet, but instead crawling onto the road where the student lay on his side.

At a glance, Sam could tell his arm was broken — he didn’t have to be a doctor to see the unnatural angle. But broken arms could heal. It was the head trauma that was the real cause for concern.

This can’t be happening. I don’t remember this happening. Oh god, this is all wrong.

As Sam inspected the gaping wound on the kid’s temple, the young Sam let out a soft moan.

“Hey, are you with me?” Sam asked, wide-eyed. He cradled Young Sam’s cheek as he looked up at the crowd of people that had started to gather.

“Is anyone calling an ambulance?” he cried out. One of the students from the group he’d been distracted by hurried towards a phone booth.

He peered back down at the boy, whose eyes were now half-open, and looking back at him with a confused expression.

“Hey, buddy,” said Sam, his throat constricting with anxiety, “thanks for doing that, but you really… really shouldn’t have…”

The younger Sam tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak, and his eyes rolled back, falling shut once again.

This is really serious.

Sam did his best to keep the kid from further injury before the ambulance arrived, as the mid-fifties driver of the car sat at the side of the road, head in his palms.

Where’s Al? He should be here. He told me he’d be here.

Finally, the ambulance came to a stop beside the weak-pulsed PhD candidate.

“Do you know this kid?” one of the paramedics asked Sam, as they loaded the double onto a stretcher.

“Yeah.” Sam smiled weakly. “We’re as close as it gets.”

He sat in the back of the ambulance, as the paramedics continued to work, and wished there was more he could do.

He followed as far as he could go into the emergency room, and stayed there until the night, filling out each form that was sent his way on behalf of his former self. He let them clean up and dress the grazes on his hands.

Al still didn’t show up.

And, after the doctors did all they could — and he knew they did their best; he had studied medicine with some of them — Sam knew from the look on the nurse’s face as he approached him in the waiting room that it was bad news.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Bennett. We did everything we could, but…”

Sam swallowed hard as he waited for him to finish the sentence.

“Uh, maybe it’s best if I let Doctor Marshall explain. Come with me.”

Sam followed the nurse into the ICU, where he was shown to his younger self hooked up to life support. Doctor Fred Marshall, who Sam recognised from his medical internship, was tending to the machines, and turned around as the two entered. Sam spotted the glistening of tears in his eyes.

Sam glanced down at the chart which hung at the foot of the hospital bed, before giving the doctor a look of grave comprehension.

“He’s not waking up, is he?”

The nurse shook his head slowly.

“We’re contacting his family,” said Doctor Marshall, “and they’ll decide what action to take from here.”

Sam bit his lip. “Whether to pull the plug, you mean?”

If Sam Beckett dies here, then what happens to me? What happens to the Project?

It dawned on him exactly why Al hadn’t shown up: No Sam, no Project Quantum Leap. No Imaging Chamber. No Ziggy.

Would Sam, then, be the next to disappear? Erased from existence?

*          *          *

Sam didn’t leave the hospital for a long time that night. Instead, he paced the waiting room as if by being here, he could magically restore the other waiting room, the one in Stallions Gate, New Mexico, where Yolanda had been while he kept her life warm in her absence.

Oh god, where is she now? The thought was an uncomfortable one. He was still here, despite the paradox he’d created — was she still in a Waiting Room somewhere, locked in some kind of temporal bubble? Or was she just removed from existence by the powers that be?

If only he hadn’t gone to Cambridge. If only Ziggy hadn’t given him that objective. If only…

Sam’s head hurt. Specifically, his left temple. It throbbed. It wasn’t lost on him that his younger version’s head injury originated from that same spot.

“Miss Bennett…”

Sam felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Doctor Marshall’s tired face.

“You don’t have to stay here… there’s nothing more to do.”

“What did my… uh, his family say?” Sam asked, nervously biting his thumbnail.

“I spoke to Sam’s father; they’ll be driving here tomorrow to see him one last time.”

Sam’s heart jumped to his throat.

“They’re coming here?” he murmured, eyes welling up.

Then, see me one last time they will.

*          *          *

Sam lay sleepless in Yolanda’s bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt that if he closed his eyes for more than a second, he might never open them again; might vanish from the fabric of reality like gluons in a quantum field.

He rolled over, and met the eye of his reflection in a mirror on the wall.

“If you’re still out there… I’m sorry,” he told the woman looking back. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Sam had read enough science fiction to know he was at ground zero of a Grandfather Paradox. He’d caused his own death in the past, undoing the pathway for him to have come here at all. It was a mystery what would happen from here. He imagined the universe encountering a Blue Screen of Death, entering an infinite reboot loop.

Was there some kind of a divine IT technician for a corrupted universe?

Sam chuckled bitterly at this unhelpful train of thought. He needed sleep. His head really was pounding, too…

In spite of his existential fears, he dared close his eyes, and fell rapidly into an uneasy sleep.

3. Old Friends

Sam gazed up at the ceiling of Yolanda’s bedroom. Despite everything, he was still here. What did it mean that he remained, a relic of a broken timeline? A temporal orphan of sorts, something that couldn’t be, and yet had to be in order for this particular timeline to exist.

A glance at the mirror confirmed that he was, in fact, still inhabiting the aura of poor Yolanda. Was this his penance now — to live out his days in the guise of this unlucky person, while their soul was snuffed out in the shuffle?

That couldn’t be his fate. It would be too cruel. He’d only been doing what God or Time or—

“Oh, forget it,” Sam mumbled, climbing out of the bed. “Any god worth a damn wouldn’t have let this happen in the first place.”

As he wandered listlessly out of the bedroom, he stopped in his tracks, locking eyes with one of the fluffiest cats he’d ever seen, perched on the arm of the couch. It greeted him with a chirrup.

“Where did you come from?”

If Yolanda had a cat, this was the first he was seeing of it. Then again, cats were timid creatures, only seen when they intended to be. Sam moved to it, holding out a finger to sniff.

“I’m sorry your Mom’s indisposed,” he said as the feline touched a wet nose to his finger. “Well, to be honest, I don’t know where she is now…”

The cat lowered its head, pushing against Sam’s hand. Getting the hint, Sam pet the soft little creature, and scratched behind its ear. He felt for a collar buried under all that fur, and successfully clutched a metal name tag, which he pulled out of the fluff and read.

“Blitzen?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up. That was the name of one of his farm cats back home. “Curious…”

He set about checking for cat food in the cupboards. He might have been in the middle of a major existential crisis the likes of which he had never known, but he wasn’t about to starve this little guy.

Turning up nothing, he finally fished a can of tuna out of the pantry and presented it to Blitzen, who proceeded to dig in with a loud purr. It was a simple act, but knowing he’d at least improved a cat’s life today made the dread Sam felt deep in his gut subside, just a little bit.

Sam didn’t bother putting on makeup today, opting instead to splash his face with water. He chose comfortable clothes. And the mirror image looking back at him had a tense expression, her eyes hollow and tired — and Sam was sure it wasn’t just that she didn’t have concealer on.

Sam rubbed at his temple as the pain returned, a little more intense.

What is this headache?

He could only guess it must be connected to his dying self. Would it just keep getting worse?

Sam swallowed aspirin before heading for the door.

*          *          *

When Sam arrived back at the hospital, a familiar figure was standing at the reception desk, speaking with the nurses.

“Professor LoNigro!” Sam blurted.

The Professor’s head swivelled at the mention of his name, and he looked Sam up and down without recognition.

“Do I know you, Madam?” he asked, as Sam took in the man’s bloodshot eyes.

He’s been crying…

“Uh… no. No,” he said, scratching his head. “But we have a mutual friend here, don’t we?”

“You know Sam?”

Sam nodded.

“Very well. You could say he and I spent a lot of time together.” Sam held out a hand. “I’m… Yolanda. Bennett.”

“Sebastian LoNigro,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand, “but apparently you already knew that.”

“I did,” Sam agreed. “He talked about you all the time. He was very excited about the theory the two of you were developing.”

The Professor tilted his head. “You keep talking about him in the past tense.”

There are at least two reasons, but you’re only interested in one.

“Do you know his condition?” Sam tested.

“A coma, I heard. Possibly a serious one.”

Sam bit his lip. “It’s a little more serious than you might guess. He has almost no brain activity, Professor. His family is coming tonight to say their goodbyes before he’s taken off life support.”

Professor LoNigro looked like he’d been slugged in the gut.

Sam closed his eyes. “It’s all my fault. I was supposed to get hit by that car, not him.”

And now we’re both done for. Aren’t we? That’s why my head hurts.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Sam opened his eyes to see the Professor gazing at him through tears.

“Miss… Bennett, was it? Do you know why Sam was so interested in time travel?”

Sam gave him a bitter smile. “Because of missed opportunities. Wanting to undo the wrongs of the past.”

Like Tom’s death.

“Precisely!” said Professor LoNigro, with a warm smile. “And if you’re here because he intervened, then perhaps his last act — saving your life — is a manifestation of that drive to put things right. Your well-being now is his final gift. Cherish that gift, Miss Bennett.”

Sam knew full well what the intent of his counterpart’s actions were. The problem was, of course, that the effect was quite the opposite. And Sam’s ‘well-being’ was getting worse by the hour, as his pounding temple was quick to remind him.

But, Sam kept quiet about this line of thought, opting instead to grace his once mentor with a thin smile.

“You’re a good man, Sebastian LoNigro.”

The Professor reached a hand into his pocket, and produced a business card. He gently lifted Sam’s hand, placing the card in his palm.

“You said Sam discussed his theories with you, yes? I may have some documents of his you might like to look at, if you’d like. Or, if you’d just like to talk more, give me a jingle.”

Sam looked down at the MIT branded card, with the Professor’s mailing address and telephone extension, both of which he found he already remembered.

“Thank you, Professor.”

The Professor’s smile faded. “I suppose we may meet again at the wake, anyway?”

Sam wasn’t so sure about that, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The Professor turned to leave, but paused, looking back with an unreadable expression. “The way you say certain things… sure sounds a lot like Sam. You must have spent a lot of time around him to have picked up such quirks.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam shrugged. “We were joined at the hip, in a way.”

The Professor looked pensive for a moment, before nodding, and saying his goodbyes as he left the hospital.

4. Matters of the Heart

“You really must care about him.”

Sam glanced up from his seat at the bedside of his comatose counterpart, seeing Doctor Marshall poking a head into the room.

“Uh, yeah.” Sam gave a joyless smirk. “He’s my world.”

“How long were you two together?” asked the doctor. Sam’s eyes widened, and Doctor Marshall lifted his hands defensively. “Uh, you don’t need to answer that, if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Then I’d rather not,” Sam said, because he most certainly was made uncomfortable by that question.

Doctor Marshall nodded. “All right then, I won’t pry further. I came in to let you know that Sam’s family has arrived.”

Sam scrambled to his feet. “Really?”

He’d had no clue how long he’d been sitting here. If his family was driving all the way from Elk Ridge, Indiana, it would have taken them at least twelve hours to get here, and that was without breaks. He wouldn’t have expected them to arrive until late in the night. Had it really been that long?

The thought of seeing them — his father in particular — made his head swim. It was 1972, and if he recalled correctly, his father was going to die some time this year. But now, instead of Sam grieving his Dad, it was going to be the other way around.

Sam hurried to the reception, but found himself hesitating as he caught sight of his mother, his father, and his sister.

He’d put his foot in his mouth with them before, and now was hardly the time to be doing it again, not while they were in such vulnerable states of grief. He’d need to play it safe, play the role of the woman he appeared to be. It occurred to him that he needed more of a cover story than just claiming to know him very well.

So, who is Yolanda Bennett to Sam Beckett?

Sam thought back to Doctor Marshall’s question. He’d made the assumption that Yolanda and Sam were an item. Perhaps he could use that, as distasteful as it seemed to him.

Having tentatively made up his mind, he approached the three members of his family.

“H-hi,” he said, extending a hand to whoever would take it. “I’m Yolanda… Sam’s girlfriend.”

At the word, Sam felt a shiver in his spine. His life was just too strange sometimes.

John Beckett looked Sam up and down for a moment, before accepting the handshake.

“Girlfriend?” he asked with surprise. “My boy never mentioned such a thing…”

He wheezed, causing Sam’s muscles to tense up, and thoughts of his Dad’s coronary arteries constricted with plaque flashed through his mind.

“Y-yeah, I guess we hadn’t made it official just yet.” Lying like this to his loved ones was much, much harder than he’d hoped.

He nodded to his mother, and moved his hand in her direction. “Missus Beckett, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Thelma Beckett took his hand in both of hers. “Thank you for keeping him company while we were coming here…” she said, visibly holding back tears.

Really, I was waiting for you three.

He finally locked eyes with his little sister, Katie. She was fifteen, and the innocence from the last time he’d seen her was gone — and for good reason, now that she was effectively an only child.

“You must be Katie,” he said, offering her a sad smile. “I’m so sorry.”

Katie attempted a polite smile, but it quivered and dropped. “Where is he?” she choked out, before beginning to sob. Sam’s heart broke as she buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.

Sam gestured to the corridor from which he’d entered. “This way.”

*          *          *

Sam hung back as his family members crowded around the other Sam’s bed. All he wanted to do was hug each of them and tell them he was okay, but that would have been a lie.

Doctor Marshall was standing beside him near the door, watching the scene. Sam could tell his professional distance was faltering, and it was because he’d met Sam multiple times by this point. The 19-year-old was not an MD yet, but he was studying medicine. And there were few MIT staff that didn’t have some awareness of the genius teen who was already preparing a PhD-level thesis in Quantum Physics. News of this accident was surely making a ripple across campus.

“He was so bright. He had the world at his feet, that Sam Beckett. He could have done so much,” Doctor Marshall murmured.

Sam licked his lips. “Yes… he certainly could have.”

And he did. But now, all that’s been undone.

All three of his family members were crying, he realised. Even his Dad, which was not something that happened often.

Doctor Marshall gave Sam a pat on the back. “I’ll let you all say your goodbyes,” he said, before leaving the room.

Sam returned his attention to the sounds of sobbing, weeping, gasping.

Gasping?

Sam’s eyes darted to his father, who had stepped back from the bed, and was laden with a cold sweat. He seemed to be struggling to pull in air, but he was deliberately attempting to downplay what were clearly the symptoms of…

Sam dashed to his father. “Dad, you’re having a heart attack!”

John Beckett stared at him with a puzzled expression.

“Who are you callin’… agh,” he keeled over, clutching his chest, and squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay, you might be right about that.”

Sam led his father to an empty bed alongside his other self’s, before pushing the call button on the wall. He reached into his purse, pulling out the aspirin bottle he’d put in there that morning.

“Here, chew on these, and lie back,” he said, shaking a few into his palm.

John Beckett, for all his stubbornness, at least seemed to follow his directions this time, and popped the pills in his mouth, before laying flat on the bed, still gasping for air. Sam eyed a defibrillator among the equipment in the room, and wheeled it to the bed as Doctor Marshall appeared in the door.

“What’s happening?”

“Myocardial infarction,” Sam barked. “Hurry. I can’t let him die too. Not today.”

Sam glanced at his Dad, and noticed his eyes beginning to roll back.

“Dad… don’t leave me… not again,” he choked out, pressing his fingers against his father’s neck to feel for a pulse. “Oh god, he’s going into cardiac arrest.”

Doctor Marshall burst into action, not bothering to ask how Yolanda knew what to do in this situation. Working together, he and Sam were able to restart John Beckett’s heart, get him breathing, and stabilise him, dosing him with blood thinners. All the while, Katie and Thelma Beckett watched on in horror.

This only bought them time, of course.

“He needs bypass surgery,” Sam mumbled, realising that it was the only known treatment for this heart condition available in 1972, and it was still in its early stages. “But even his chances of making it out of the surgery are iffy at best.”

It was safe to say that this was most definitely the worst leap of Sam’s career. And it had started out so innocently.

“Miss Bennett, are you a nurse…?” asked Doctor Marshall, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

Sam glanced back, not sure he had it in him to keep pretending. “I’ve studied medicine,” he said truthfully.

“The moment I saw you look at Sam’s chart… the look you got, your understanding. I wondered about it.” He placed a reassuring hand on Sam’s arm. “You saved this man’s life today. I think Sam would be grateful.”

Sam is feeling a lot of things right now. Grateful? Not so sure about that one.

5. Girl Talk

Sam emerged from the toilet stall, catching sight of the dishevelled woman in the mirror, looking back at him with dark circles under her eyes and unruly black hair. It was god-knows-o’clock in the morning, and everyone was in desperate need of sleep. Sam gave a silent apology to his reflection — once again, as he rubbed a hand against his pained temple.

And then another face was there in the mirror, across the bathroom, studying him.

“Katie…” Sam turned to his sister, whose eyes were red and face was blotchy. But, she wasn’t crying now. That was something.

“Why did you call him ‘Dad?’”

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but found that no such answer existed. So, he closed it again, and busied himself with washing his hands.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Just slipped out.”

He shook the water from his hands as Katie continued looking at him.

“I used to have this recurring dream,” she said suddenly. “Where Sam said he was a time traveller from the future, and sang me this song that I’d never heard.”

A dream? A remnant of the broken timeline?

Sam kept a silent eye on her as she crossed to the mirror, and inspected her reflection, before running a tap and splashing her face.

“Then I heard it on the radio for the first time last year,” she continued. “The same song! I swear to god!”

“Imagine…” Sam mumbled. Katie caught this, and locked eyes with him in the mirror.

“That’s the song…” she squinted. “How did you know?”

Tell her. Just tell her. What’s the point in following the rules now? The Project doesn’t even exist any more and you’ve already caused a paradox. How much worse can it get?

Sam swallowed. “You tell me.”

Katie turned, and moved close to him, studying his face. “Well, let’s look at the evidence.”

She paced the room, seeming to be channelling Sam’s gestures.

“You say you’re Sam’s girlfriend but he never mentioned you before, but you obviously know a lot about him. You called my Dad ‘Dad’ twice, even though you just met him. You saved Dad’s life like some kind of doctor, and I heard you say you studied medicine. And you knew the song in my dream.”

She pointed an accusing finger. “Are you Sam’s ghost, possessing some lady so you can say goodbye?”

Despite everything, Sam found himself laughing.

Katie’s finger dropped, and she began to blush. “You coulda just said no…”

“I’m sorry, Katie,” Sam said, forcing his laughter away. “I didn’t mean to react like that. It’s just… that’s so, so close to the right answer. You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

Katie’s eyes widened. “Are you saying…”

“Yeah… it’s me, little sis.”

Katie’s eyes welled up. “Sam?”

“I wanted to tell you, but…”

Sam’s explanation was cut off by his sister’s arms wrapping around him.

“I thought I’d never get to talk to you again,” she said, sobbing against his chest. She pulled away, looking up at him.

“For a while, I used to think maybe my dream was real, and that you grew up to be a time traveller. But now… now you’re just a ghost…?”

A ghost of a future that’s been erased, sure.

“It’s a long story… why don’t we go somewhere we can sit down?”

*          *          *

At 3:30am, most public parts of the hospital were all but deserted. Sam and Katie sat in a small enclave with a table, chairs, and a vending machine. Katie sipped a Coke as Sam gave a simplified summary of his situation that he thought a fifteen-year-old could grasp.

Finally, Katie put her can down, and gazed thoughtfully at it. “So the dream really was real.”

“Before I screwed everything up, it was.” He rubbed his head. “Now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how long I’m going to be stuck like this. I don’t know if I’ll even exist from one second to the next.”

Katie took his hand and squeezed. “Well, I’m no quantum physical whatever, but I think we should hold off on letting the you in the bed go. What if you die with him?”

“What makes you think that’ll happen?”

Katie shrugged. “I dunno. If it was a science fiction novel, that’s how it would work.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, maybe. Well, it might be best not to pull the plug while Dad’s heart is looking for any chance to give out on him again.”

Brother and sister were silent for a moment, as it really sunk in how both lives were dangling over a precipice, ready to fall into the abyss.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few days,” Sam admitted. “I don’t want to burden you, but… promise me you’ll take care of Mom, and you won’t run off with Chuck.”

Katie rubbed her hands together.

“You said that in the dream…” She looked up into his eyes, her lower lip quivering. “I promise.”

She began to sob again, and he wrapped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her head to his chest. He reached into Yolanda’s purse for a handkerchief, and his finger brushed the edge of a stiff piece of card. He took a hold of it, and looked down at Professor LoNigro’s business card.

I guess if there’s anyone I can really talk to about all this; anyone with a micron of a chance of helping me… maybe it’s him.

6. Sleepover

As Katie and Sam returned to the now-dual bedside of father and son, Thelma glanced up at them through sunken eyes.

“Where have you two been?”

Katie gave Sam a knowing look. “Girl talk,” she replied, as she took a seat.

“It’s almost four in the morning,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes. “Do you have a room somewhere?”

Thelma sighed. “John booked a motel room, but we haven’t even had the chance to check in,” she said quietly. “But even if we had, how could I leave both of my boys? I’ll sleep here in this chair if I have to.”

“What about Katie?” Sam asked, placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I have an apartment across town, she can have a sleep there for a few hours if you’re okay with it. I’m about to call up a cab.”

Katie’s eyes lit up, and grabbed Sam’s arm. “Can I, Mom? Please?”

Thelma regarded the two of them. “Well, she’s certainly taken a shine to you.” She glanced at her sleeping husband for a moment, before shifting her eyes back to Sam. “Yes, I think that will be okay. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, Yolanda.”

Sam gave her a thankful smile. “I’ll have her back in one piece, I promise.”

“Have who back…?” The gravelly voice of John Beckett mumbled, as his eyes fluttered open.

“Daddy…” said Katie, as she moved to his side and curled a hand around his fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Well I’m still alive, it seems,” he said with a crooked smile. His eyes moved to Sam. “Thanks to this young lady, if I remember right.”

Sam returned the smile. “I, uh… I lost my Dad to a heart attack long ago, and since then I’ve made sure I know exactly what to do if I see the signs.”

His eyes met Katie’s momentarily, and she bit her lip.

“It was the darndest thing,” John continued, turning his head towards the comatose Sam. “When it was happening, I thought I heard Sam’s voice beggin’ me not to die. Maybe he’s still here with us in some way…”

“I think so too,” said Katie, grinning. Sam kept a poker face as she looked at him.

“Alright, we’d better get out of here, Katie… get some sleep,” he said after a moment. He smiled at his father. “You take it easy, okay? Stay in bed.”

“But I need a smoke,” he grumbled. Sam winced.

“In here? Really not a good idea…”

In 1972, it was normal to smoke just about anywhere in a hospital — even in the operating theater — Sam realised, but not if he had anything to say about it.

“I’ll get you some chewin’ tobacco, honey,” said Thelma, with a wink at Sam.

John’s face screwed up. “That any way to treat a dyin’ old man?” But, after a moment, he sighed. “Yeah, all right. It’ll do.”

*          *          *

As Sam escorted Katie through the halls of the apartment building, she was quiet and pensive.

“Something wrong?” he asked her, as he felt around in his purse for the keys.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just tell Mom and Dad that it’s you.”

Sam opened the door, and flipped the lights on. Blitzen was sitting on a side table, staring at the two of them.

“Katie, I know you believe me, but it’s not exactly an easy story to swallow. I’ve tried it before.” He picked up the cat, giving it a stroke.

“But Dad heard your voice.”

“That only proves to me how close he was to dying. I don’t want to put him under any further stress.”

He presented the cat to Katie. “Check the name tag on this fella,” he said.

Katie read the tag, and her mouth curled into a smile. “Huh. That’s a coincidence.”

“I don’t know who this cat belongs to,” Sam admitted, letting the feline jump to the floor. “No cat supplies in here. Maybe it’s a neighbour’s.”

“Aww, he’s a great big puffball,” Katie cooed, as the cat ran its body against her leg.

“Anyway, you can take the bed,” said Sam, gesturing to the bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Katie scuffed a foot into the carpet. “We could both sleep in the bed, couldn’t we? I don’t really wanna be alone.”

Sam’s heart melted at this, and he nodded. “Okay, if you want.”

The clock was just reaching 5am as Katie drifted to sleep, nestled into Sam’s chest, with a mystery cat curled up in the crook of her arm.

Sam peered down at her, wondering how he could ever accept letting her lose so many loved ones in such a short period of time.

And as he tried desperately to puzzle out how to fix all of this, his mind became too clouded with fatigue and headache to continue, and he too descended into sleep.

*          *          *

The clock read 12:23pm when Sam awoke. From the sharp pain in his head, it might have been the headache itself that had roused him. Katie was still sleeping soundly against him, and he gingerly moved her head to a pillow as he slipped out from under her.

He gave her a kiss on the forehead before grasping Yolanda’s purse and pulling out two items: the aspirin bottle, and the business card.

He made use of both, and nervously swallowed as he heard Professor LoNigro answering his phone.

“Professor… it’s Yolanda Bennett. I hope I haven’t called at a bad time,” he said tentatively.

“Not at all, it’s my lunch hour. What can I do for you?”

“Is there any chance I could meet with you in person today? I have something kind of major to discuss with you, and it can’t wait.”

“Something about Sam?”

“Yes,” Sam said firmly.

“I see. Given the circumstances, I’ll cancel my lecture for this afternoon. If it’s as urgent as you say.”

“Thank you, Professor. It really is. I don’t want to be far from the hospital, so would you be able to meet me there at about two o’clock?”

“I can do that, Miss Bennett.”

As Sam hung up the phone, he turned to see Katie rubbing her eyes with one hand and carrying a contented Blitzen with the other.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Sam asked. She shook her head.

“No, it was him,” she said, gesturing to the cat. “He was pawing at me.”

“He’s probably hungry…” Sam mumbled, as he crossed to the pantry. “I think there’s another tuna can somewhere in here.”

“Is there a litter box set up?” Katie wondered aloud.

Sam shook his head. “I haven’t seen one.”

“I wonder where he’s been going to the bathroom if he’s been locked in here, then…”

Sam grimaced, as he opened the tin he’d found. Blitzen jumped out of Katie’s arms, and eagerly began to eat.

“I don’t smell anything… untoward,” said Sam. “Maybe he has a way in and out of here that I don’t know about.”

“Well, you should set something up anyway, just in case. This little guy’s no farm cat. I think he needs a bit more care than our Blitzen.”

Sam smiled at his sister’s pragmatism. He’d had so many pressing matters on his mind, and had been missing the basics.

“Alright, there’s a convenience store across the road… let’s get some supplies real quick.”

7. Frayed String

The cat was accommodated, Katie was with her mother again, and Sam was pacing at the hospital reception, awaiting the arrival of his former professor. His appearance was still in shambles; he hadn’t had time to do much but shower before coming back here. But, he rationalised, that was neither here nor there at this point. The pain in his head was reaching alarming levels, and he was finding that his left eye was having some trouble focusing.

“Miss Bennett…?”

Sam’s eyes followed the voice, and he cantered over to Professor LoNigro as he entered the lobby.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Come on.”

He led the Professor back outside, and to a bench around a corner where he’d seen few people venturing. The two took a seat, and Sam clasped his hands together, gazing at his feet as he tried to assemble a convincing way to explain himself.

The professor sat silently, patiently, waiting for Sam to speak. He’d always had an excess of patience, Sam recalled. He figured that anyone who could listen for hours to a guy talking about the quantum theory behind time travel would need plenty of patience.

“Professor…” he began, finally, “for the sake of argument, suppose Sam’s theory successfully resulted in a functioning time machine that allowed him to travel to any point in his own lifetime.”

He glanced up, studying the professor’s face. “And then, suppose, through sheer bad luck, he got his nineteen-year-old self hit by a car, resulting in brain death…”

Professor LoNigro’s brows knitted together.

I know. I know how this sounds.

“Now suppose said time machine works in such a way that Sam travels back by switching places with someone at random, and — to all the world — he is seen as that other person. Suppose he’s now stuck in a paradox and may have potentially broken the space-time continuum.”

He ran a hand down his face. “And suppose Sam is now, for all intents and purposes, trapped looking like some woman and doesn’t know what to do next because the ensuing twenty-seven years of his life have been erased.”

The professor was silent for what seemed like an eternity.

“Then I’d suppose he would be reaching out to the man who helped him develop his theory,” he said at last, brow still furrowed. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re Sam?”

Sam gave him a sheepish nod.

“You realise how this sounds, I assume.”

“I most certainly do, Professor.”

“I like to think of myself as an open-minded man,” the professor mused, gazing straight ahead, “but this is quite the tale you’re telling. Have you any proof?”

“All I can offer you is what I know,” admitted Sam. “About my—Sam’s life, about you, about the future. But the process of time travel did a number on my memory, so I might not have all the answers.”

“That’s convenient,” said the professor, arching one brow.

Sam chuckled. “Quite the opposite. But I’ll answer any question you have as best I can.”

“Alright then, I’ll humour you. Explain to me your theory, and provide me some of your equations that allowed you to put it into practice.”

Sam grinned. “Easy,” he said, unclipping the strap from his purse to use in his demonstration of the string analogy.

As he looped the ends of the strap together, explaining the theory he’d explained countless times over the years, it occurred to him that his life was no longer a full string. It was cut, or perhaps frayed. Barely keeping together. And if that final strand was severed…

I think Katie was right. I can’t let them pull the plug, not until I figure this out.

Sam scrawled some key equations on the back of his hand, as Professor LoNigro watched on, astonished.

“Well,” he said quietly, “if you’re not Sam Beckett, then you’re just about as brilliant. I may be beginning to believe you.”

Sam sighed with relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

“But, if you really have got yourself into this predicament you claim… it seems to me that travelling back in time again would be the only solution. To stop yourself from stepping into the path of that car.”

Sam sighed. “I would if I could, believe me. But even if I had the control over the process needed to do that — which I don’t, mind you — my entire project no longer exists thanks to what happened, so I wouldn’t have the ability. I’m stranded.”

Sebastian LoNigro rose to his feet, stretching. “That is quite the head-scratcher.”

He folded his arms thoughtfully. “Allow me to fetch a few supplies, and I’ll return here. If you can take me through as much as you recall about your time machine, I’ll see if we can’t put our heads together on a solution.”

Sam nodded. “I don’t know if there’s anything you’ll be able to do, but I don’t have any other options. Thank you for believing me, at least.”

“It’s not easy to look at this woman in front of me and believe you to be a man, I’ll say that much,” he said, biting his lip, “but there’s just something about the way you speak, the way you gesture, and the way you look at me. It’s… terribly strange, but somehow, it does feel like talking to Sam.”

He turned away. “I won’t be more than twenty minutes,” he said, giving a distracted wave.

Sam watched him go, and took a deep breath, hoping desperately that his memory wouldn’t fail him.

8. Encroaching Darkness

Sam peeked into the ward, spotting Doctor Marshall busily taking notes beside John Beckett’s bed, as Katie watched. His mother was, to Sam’s relief, sleeping in the chair. His father, on the other hand, was alert and sitting up.

“Ah, if it isn’t my guardian angel,” he said, grinning.

Oh boy, don’t call me that… not now.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Mister Beckett.” Sam chose his words carefully, knowing all too well that his father’s heart was a ticking time bomb. He gave a pointed look to Katie. “Can I borrow you a minute?”

Katie crossed to him, joining him in the corridor.

“Are you sure you’re not the genius?” he asked her as he closed the door, a smile tickling at his lips.

Katie raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I think you might be right about keeping the other me on life support,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to explain, but I think as long as he’s alive, there’s enough temporal stability in my— how do I put this in layman’s terms?”

He squinted, thinking for a moment. “As long as he’s still alive in there, there’s enough potential for me to be alive; to still exist here. But the moment he dies… well I don’t want to think what’ll happen, because that’s when the paradox will kick in. It might not just be me that disappears.”

Katie stared at him nervously. “So a whole lot’s riding on us keeping those machines on?”

“But it’s not as simple as that,” Sam sighed, “because I think the accident is affecting me, too, and it’s getting worse all the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, since the accident, I’ve had a headache, right at the impact point,” he said, gesturing to his temple. “And it’s slowly getting more painful. I’m worried that, given enough time, the fractured timeline is going to catch up with me and I’m gonna end up a vegetable too. So I have to figure this out fast.”

He rubbed his temple, as if to emphasise the point. “The truth is, I’m just… scared.”

As he paced the hall, Katie grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him towards her.

“I’m not gonna pretend I understand much of what you just said, but I want to help.” She leaned her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I don’t know what I can do, but I’m here for you if and when you need me.”

“Thanks, Katie,” Sam murmured, and momentarily wondered how a fifteen-year-old version of his sister could sound so grown up. “Listen, I’m gonna be spending the rest of the day with Professor LoNigro trying to work out some way of undoing all this. So here’s your assignment: make sure nobody turns off the life support, and keep a close eye on Dad. Watch for sweat, breathing difficulties, nausea. If he complains of pains or numbness – though he might try to downplay it. Be vigilant, alright?”

“Leave it to me!” she said with a determined salute. “And… break!”

Sam watched her go back into the ward with an encouraged smile on his face, which faded as he noticed the vision in his left eye clouding over.

How long do I have left?

*          *          *

Sam followed Sebastian LoNigro from his car, carrying a stack of folders and thick textbooks, while the professor lugged a chalkboard and a satchel bag filled with miscellaneous stationery.

“Are you sure you can carry all of those books?” he asked Sam, shooting him a concerned look.

“I’m fine,” Sam said with a grin, “I have a lot more muscle tone than you can see in these arms, I promise.”

“I look forward to hearing how that’s possible,” said the Professor. “This way, now.”

He led them to a wing of the hospital that Sam recognised as being used for teaching, as part of the university.

“I called in a favour with a friend on the faculty here,” he explained, “and secured us a disused office for a few days.”

“I appreciate this,” said Sam. “I didn’t want to stray far from… well, you know. Me.”

The professor gave him a curious look. “Twenty-seven years, you said before. Are you really in your mid-forties?”

“If I’m right about the date in my present, then yes.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s complicated. I haven’t been back to my own time in a while. Hard to keep track of things. But I think it’s ’99.”

“Fascinating…” The professor stopped at a door, leaned the chalkboard against the wall, and fished around in his pocket for a key. “I imagine all of this must seem quite primitive to you.”

Sam chuckled. “I’d go with ‘dated.’ Everything builds on what came before it. You just find more efficient methods to accomplish the same tasks.”

“Yes, good point,” mused the professor, as he opened the door. “Even an ancient hunter-gatherer society cooking meat over a fire would recognise the utility of an oven if it was demonstrated, I suppose.”

He flipped a light switch, and a dim bulb lit up a small room furnished with an empty desk and one chair.

“Well, this is cosy,” said Sam, hiking an eyebrow, “but it’ll do.”

He dropped his stack of documents onto the desk. “Let’s get cracking.”

9. More Bad News

It was a long afternoon and evening, as Sam explained every detail of his project – or, rather, as much as his memory allowed. The documents the professor had brought with him included detailed notes that he and the younger Sam had taken, and Sam was grateful to fill in some glaring gaps.

And, with trepidation, Sam began to explain the idea that something else had been controlling his leaps. The unknown factor that they had labelled ‘God,’ among a handful of other similar titles.

It was at this point that Professor LoNigro stopped to clean his glasses, brow heavy over his eyes.

“Goodness,” he said, “how can we hope to account for a variable for which we can’t possibly know the value?”

Sam swallowed an aspirin before replying. “We can’t,” he admitted. “Up until now, I figured whoever – or whatever – was doing this had the universe’s best interests in mind; that the things I was sent to do were to the benefit of humanity.”

He laughed. “So imagine my surprise when he, she, they, or it, let this happen.” He rubbed his eye, which might as well have been closed for all the visual input it was giving him at this point.

“If that pain really is temporally correlated to the injury of your counterpart,” the professor remarked as he watched Sam’s obvious signs of distress, “then you may begin to experience some cognitive decline as the damage spreads.”

Sam’s mouth flattened to a line. “I… I know. Judging from the location of the pain, I can expect left frontal lobe damage first. And with it, quite possibly my fine motor functions, memory, and likely my understanding of much of what we’ve discussed today.”

There was a minute, or perhaps longer, of contemplative silence, as the two men sat with this bleak forecast, and considered their options.

“We don’t have the kind of resources you have in the future,” the professor finally said. “I can’t say I’d be able to build one of these Quantum Leap Accelerators; certainly not in the short time you have.”

Sam’s heart sank. Somewhere deep down, he’d known that was the case, but there had been a part of him that dared hope.

“…However,” continued Professor LoNigro, “let’s think laterally. You said that to trigger one of these ‘leaps,’ you had to accomplish some altruistic goal in the life of this person.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And this ‘god’ figure of yours directs where the next leap will take you.”

Sam was beginning to understand where he was going. “So you’re suggesting that I finish what I came here to do, and then I’ll leap to a point that will allow me to fix my mistake?”

“It’s not that I would count on such a thing, but… frankly, it’s all I can think of, Sam.”

That had been the first time the professor had addressed him as ‘Sam’ without first hesitating. It was a small victory.

*          *          *

Katie and Sam sat quietly in the back of the cab as they were escorted back towards Yolanda’s apartment. The arrangement was the same as the previous night; Thelma Beckett still had no interest in leaving the side of her husband and son, no matter how pained her neck became from sleeping in a chair.

Sam’s one good eye peered out the window, watching the city lights, which seemed to irritate his left eye, even though the connection between the eye and his brain seemed severed or otherwise incapacitated. He covered his eye with his hand, frowning.

He hadn’t told Katie about the decline he expected in his brain function; not yet, anyway. He’d need to find the right way to tell her – and he knew eventually that would need to happen, since she would be witness to it.

As the taxi approached the now-familiar run down apartment building, he sensed Katie stiffen beside him, and he followed her gaze out the windshield of the car.

“Watch out! Stop!” she shrieked, as the taxi driver finally noticed the ball of grey fur in the road. A ball of grey fur with gleaming yellow eyes reflecting the taxi’s headlights.

The car screeched, and Sam felt like he was back on Main Street, watching papers full of physics equations fly through the air.

But, instead of that, there was a horrible ‘thump’ as the taxi came to a halt.

“Blitzen…?” Katie squeaked.

Sam had once almost been executed in an electric chair— twice in one leap, in fact. But now, it felt like that leap was a cakewalk compared to the emotional rollercoaster that was this one.

I want to get off now. Please?

*          *          *

The after hours veterinarian pulled up to the side of the road, where Katie and Sam waited, the severely injured Blitzen lying before them.

Sam’s medical knowledge did not extend well to small animals, he realised quickly, but he knew it didn’t look good. But he had to try; surely there was enough tragedy happening around them at this point.

The vet climbed out of the car, clicking his tongue as he peered down at the wounded feline.

“Oh my,” he said, kneeling over Blitzen. “Let’s get this poor creature into better light, shall we?”

He held out his kit bag to Katie. “Would you carry this for me, sweetheart?”

Katie took it silently, while the vet and Sam gingerly picked up the cat. Blitzen let out a visceral wail.

“Don’t hurt him…” Katie whimpered, her eyes red and face stained with tears.

“We’re doing our best, young lady,” the vet said, as they brought the cat inside the apartment building, and placed him on the tiled floor within. An overhead light provided a fair amount more illumination than the dark street. Sam and the vet knelt before Blitzen’s quivering, blood-matted form.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m a doctor…” said Sam, passing the vet his supplies. The vet looked up at him with surprise.

“You, ma’am? Really?”

Sam frowned. “Yes, now would you get to work? Time’s wasting!”

The vet furrowed his brow for a moment, before beginning his assessment of the injury.

“Hmm…”

“What? What is it?”

“These injuries are extensive, I’m afraid,” he said grimly, holding up a gloved hand covered in blood. “I suspect, if I had an X-Ray of the spine, it may well be shattered in places. It’s a miracle this poor creature is still hanging on.”

“What are you saying?” asked Sam, feeling dizzy. “You’re giving up on him?”

The vet looked into his eyes with the weary face of a man who’d had this conversation time and time again.

“Ma’am, if I were somehow able to stave off the death of this cat, it would be in agony for the rest of the time it had. Sometimes it’s best for the animal to let them go.”

Sam brushed tears from his eyes. “You don’t understand! I can’t do this… not today. There has to be some way…”

He crumpled, his forearms flattening on the floor, and his head bowing to meet them, as he sobbed. Of all the cruel things for GTFW to do to him. To Katie.

Then, he felt a warm hand on his back. Katie maneuvered herself next to him on the floor.

“Hey… it’s okay, Sammy. Please don’t cry…”

Sam turned his head, meeting her eye. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.”

“Sam, don’t blame yourself. How could you have prevented any of this? Well, except the first thing, but even then, how were you supposed to know?”

She wrapped an arm over his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m fifteen, not a child,” she said. Her voice quavered, but she was remarkably calm. “Am I sad about this poor kitty? Of course. But I get it… I understand that it’s better that he’s put to sleep. I don’t want him to suffer any more…”

“When did you become the big sister?” Sam said, giving her a weak smile, before straightening, and looking to the vet. “I guess… do what you have to.”

As much as it pained him to say it, the vet had been right. It was still heartbreaking, of course.

And he still didn’t know whose cat this was.

10. Big Sister

The following morning, Sam awoke to find that his sister had reversed positions with him, and lay with her arms over his shoulders, her breath tickling his neck. He quietly slid out from under her, and stood to find that his headache seemed better than the day before. This only served to make him suspicious, however; his eye was still unusable, after all.

As he entered the kitchen, he raided his host’s fridge for eggs, and began to put together some breakfast.

He thought back to his discussion the previous day with the professor; perhaps he’d been right about completing his leap. All he had to do was meet and make a good impression on that guy in the grocery store – what was his name again?

I should remember his name.

He just had to go back to Main Street, and pay attention to traffic this time around; surely he’d remember the name if he thought hard enough.

“Smells good,” said Katie, poking a head in the doorway.

“It’s nothing fancy,” Sam admitted, scraping the frying pan with a wooden spoon, “just scrambled eggs. I think there’s some OJ in the fridge, if you want it.”

Katie opened the door of the refrigerator, peering around for a moment, before taking the orange juice carton out and hunting for something to pour it into.

Sam pointed to a cupboard. “Glasses are in there, I think. Could you grab a couple of plates too?”

The two ate their breakfast at the kitchen table in near silence. To Sam, Katie seemed emotionally wrung out, and he couldn’t blame her. He felt the same way, after all.

Katie was the first to finish, and she carried her dishes back to the kitchen, before wandering back out with a funny look.

“You forgot to turn off the stove,” she said, looking a little spooked.

Sam bit his lip. It was, indeed, unlike him to forget something like that. And now it was time to explain to Katie why he did. He beckoned her back to the table, and she followed the direction with concern.

“I guess it’s starting,” he said through a long sigh.

“What’s starting?” Katie’s eyes were wide.

“I told you about my headache, right?”

A silent nod.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s beginning to damage my brain. Clearly, it’s starting with disruption to my memory. I don’t know what’ll be next, but I think this is just the beginning.”

Katie looked away from him, and down at her hands. “I see…”

“I have one small chance left to see if I can leap today. Will you… help me? I don’t know how fast this thing will progress and…”

“Of course I’ll help,” said Katie, shooting him a sad – but genuine – smile. “What are big sisters for?”

*          *          *

Sam rubbed a towel over his hair, and studied it in the mirror. Yolanda’s hair could not have been more different to his own; there was a lot of it, and it may have looked more at home styled in an Afro than anything Sam knew how to do. He ran a brush through it, which seemed only to give the hair even more body than before; it stuck out in every direction. Had it been this hard to style a few days ago?

He wanted to make a good impression, but with only one functioning eye and a compromised frontal lobe, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get his appearance right this time.

As he brought a mascara brush to his eyelashes, he grunted as the brush slipped and poked his eye. He dropped it, and rubbed at the eye – his good eye, too, he thought bitterly.

“You okay in there?” Katie asked, peeking a concerned head into the bathroom doorway.

“No.” Sam sighed. “I… I can’t do this.”

Loss of fine motor skills… check.

“Let me help,” said Katie. “I always wanted a sister to practise hair and makeup on.”

She grinned, taking up the mascara brush. “I’ll make you pretty, Sam. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a mascara brush in my eye.”

Sam smiled as she inspected the makeup available, and closed up the mascara.

“First off you should hold off on the mascara until after the eye-shadow, because the powder might get on your lashes.”

“Right, I knew that,” Sam said.

“And wow, look at this hair. There must be product for it somewhere round here. I’ve seen my friend Violetta use some kind of cream; she has hair like this.”

“Guess you’ve got this covered.”

Katie grinned, as she produced a bottle from the cabinet. “Makeovers are a teenage girl’s specialty, don’t you know? Go get a chair while I check out all this stuff.”

The makeover was something of a healing experience for Sam. Not the kind of healing that would halt the march of his affliction, but healing that took place on the emotional and spiritual level. He found himself a little less burdened, knowing that his baby sister was all in on helping him, whether he looked like her brother or not.

And by the end of it, the mirror image looking back at him was fresh and beautiful. Katie had chosen different colours than the well-used mauve, and he found Yolanda’s face lit up by a bright orange over her eyes, somewhere between the colour of peaches and apricots, and a similarly peachy pink on her lips. Her hair was styled into a well-formed Afro, and Sam had no idea how his sister had known how to do it – but it looked amazing.

“Sam, you look like a beauty queen!” Katie announced.

Sam looked up at her with a grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Thank you, she looks— I look great.”

“What do you mean it wouldn’t be the first time?”

Sam winked. “I, uh, might have won a beauty pageant once.”

Katie’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not usually this much of a klutz with a makeup brush, you know. A parasol and a set of heels, on the other hand…” He cringed at the memory.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Katie laughed. “You’re just yanking my chain… aren’t you?”

Sam responded only with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a wide smile.

11. Shopping Without A List

“Ow!” Sam yelped as his knee slammed into the train door. He could have sworn he was maneuvering around it, but his leg apparently didn’t agree. “Jeez…”

Katie grabbed him by the arm as the two of them stepped onto the Central station platform.

“Um, are you alright?” she asked, as he rubbed at his knee.

“Oh I’m great. Apparently, my proprioception is next on the chopping block,” he mumbled. He grimaced, making eye contact with a befuddled Katie. “I’m gonna be a bit clumsy, in other words.”

“Well, we have a lot of stairs to climb, so watch your step,” she replied, grasping his hand. “Hold the railing, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Sam.

“So who is this guy we’re going to see?” Katie continued as they began their ascent to the street.

“I wish I could remember his name, but Yolanda needs to meet him so he can take her nursery rhymes and make them into songs. At least that’s what Ziggy thought was meant to happen…”

“Nursery rhymes?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty clever.” Sam paused, and opened up his bag, pulling out a notebook. He handed it to Katie, who began flipping through it.

“You could make these into songs, couldn’t you? Or is that music degree for nothin’?”

“I can’t stick around for that – Yolanda just needs a push in the right direction. I just have to connect the two of them, and the rest will work itself out once I’m gone. In theory.”

“Sounds easy,” she said, handing back the notebook. Sam chuckled.

“That’s what I thought, until I crossed the street.”

The siblings emerged onto the sidewalk, and Sam felt a sense of dread as his gaze landed on the stretch of road where the accident had happened.

Katie sensed him tensing up. “It’s okay, Sam. We’ll look both ways this time.”

Katie’s hand once again clutched at his, and she pulled him along like a parent leading a child. Sam vaguely recalled helping a very young Katie crossing the street when he was a child, and suddenly felt a little uncomfortable at the role reversal.

Together, they crossed the road without incident, and Sam glimpsed the grocery store in question.

Now, he thought, to remember the name of this guy. I wish Al was here. Where is he, anyway? —Wait, no, Al’s not coming. Not until I fix this.

Sam frowned, having caught that momentary memory lapse, and wondered how long it would be until he no longer caught them.

*          *          *

Sam stared at the busy store, eyes darting from employee to employee.

Come on, memory, give up the name already.

Normally, Sam’s memory would experience its swiss-cheese effect upon leaping, but he was able to retain anything new after that – perfectly, thanks to his photographic memory. But now, it seemed that anything could slip his mind at any moment, no matter how important. It was terrifying.

“So, uh, what now?” asked Katie, watching him.

“Well, I know it’s a man we’re looking for. That’s a start, right? How many male employees can there be?”

Katie frowned. “You don’t even know if he’s working today, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Well that’s just great…”

Sam stroked his chin. “Okay, how about we wander around, taking note of the name tags of each staff member, and I’ll see if one rings a bell?”

“Sure— it’s better than standing here, getting our toes run over,” Katie said, smirking as she flattened herself against the wall to avoid an oncoming shopping cart.

They set about traversing the aisles. Katie grabbed a basket, and used the cover of collecting canned goods to get a close look at a few name badges of workers she encountered.

“Greg?”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“Herbert?”

“No…”

“Doug?”

“Definitely not.”

“Do you remember the letter it starts with? Or anything else that might help?”

Sam wracked his brain.

“I think it was… one syllable. Short and sharp. Like ‘Jack,’ except it wasn’t Jack. At least I don’t think it was Jack. Maybe it was? No. It doesn’t sound right.”

“Alright, well that kinda helps,” Katie said, pressing her lips together as she scanned the store. “I think it’s just the cashiers left.”

Katie led him to the checkouts, setting down her basket, which was full of heavy cans, and grabbing a pack of gum from the impulse section by the registers. She passed a Hershey’s bar to Sam.

“You take that guy, I’ll take this guy,” she said, pointing respectively at the two men working the checkouts.

Sam nodded, and stood in line. As he was served, he caught sight of the name tag: ‘Zachary.’

Three syllables… he thought, disappointed.

He paid for his candy bar, and sighed as he began to stroll away from the register.

“Hey, Zach, you got a break in five!” came the voice of a supervisor, and Sam froze in his tracks.

Wait, that’s the name. ‘Zach.’ God, I can’t believe I nearly walked away.

He caught Katie’s eye and waved her over.

“Did you find him?” she asked as she approached. “The guy over there was called Walter, by the way.”

“It’s this guy,” Sam said with palpable relief, gesturing to the young cashier, who looked around twenty years of age. “Zach. Zachary… Fuh—uh, Fer—”

He snapped his fingers. “Zachary Fernandez! That’s the name.”

He laughed with triumph as he finally grasped the memory that had eluded him. “Oh boy… that felt like giving birth.”

Katie grinned. “Okay, now what do we do?”

“I suppose… I go introduce myself.”

12. Coffee Break

As Zach closed off his register, and skirted out from behind it, Sam gave him a tap on the shoulder.

“Oh… uh, yes?” the young man mumbled. It seemed clear that he was not interested in being bothered by a customer now that his break had begun.

“Uh, hi. Can I talk to you a minute?” Sam said, biting his lip nervously.

Just act natural, he told himself. You’ve done this kind of thing lots of times.

“Look, it’s my break – I can point you to someone else if you want, ma’am…”

“Oh, it’s not… I just—” Sam felt tongue-tied all of a sudden.

“My friend thinks you’re cute,” Katie interjected. “She wants to give you her number.”

Sam scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Uh… y-yeah.”

Wait. What is my number?

Zach’s eyes grew wide, as he seemed to really look at Sam for the first time. “You think I’m cute?”

“Uh… yeah, you could say that.”

You could say anything at all…

“But listen. I, uh, just got a new number and I haven’t memorised it yet. This might sound kind of forward, but do you want to get a coffee right now? You said you were on break, right?”

Zach’s lips curled into a smile. “Well, I’m not one to turn down coffee with…”

He continued to look her up and down. “A foxy lady such as yourself.”

“Aren’t you the charmer,” Sam forced out, and made a point of peering down at his name tag. “…Zachary.”

“Zach for short,” he said, extending a hand. “Zach Fernandez.”

Sam took his hand with a weak smile.

“I’m Yolanda Beckett,” he said, and immediately felt Katie pinch him on the arm.

“She means ‘Bennett,’” she corrected.

“Uh, yeah. Bennett.”

Katie let out a nervous giggle. “She’s never done anything like this before, I think the nerves are getting to her.”

Sam shrugged. “Must be it,” he said, sending Katie a grateful glance for the save.

A puzzled look passed over Zach’s face, before resolving back into the expression of a man who thought he was about to get lucky. Sam found himself flinching involuntarily at the look in his eyes.

“Okay, well I’ll leave you two to your date,” Katie said with a toothy grin towards Sam. “Break a leg.”

She cupped a hand to Sam’s ear. “I’ll tail you from a distance,” she whispered, before drawing back and flashing a smile at Zach.

She trotted away from them, and as Sam watched her disappear out of the sliding door, it dawned on him that his sister had stepped into Al’s role for this leap – and she was good at it.

*          *          *

“So what do you do, Yolanda?” asked Zach, gazing into Sam’s eyes through the rising steam of his coffee.

“What do I do?” Sam hesitated. What did Yolanda do? He knew almost nothing about her – and if he had known more information before, it was gone now. Did she have a job? Well, she had an apartment, so she must have had money. All Sam had was the notebook of rhymes.

“I’m a writer,” he said finally. “Or at least, I’d like to be.”

“A writer? Like an author, or journalist…?”

Sam chuckled. “Not quite. More like nursery rhymes.”

He produced the notebook. “Here’s some of the stuff I’ve written. I’d like to, I don’t know… turn it into children’s songs, or…”

Zach looked down at the notebook, and spent a minute or so reading, before looking up.

“These aren’t half bad,” he announced with a grin. “Kids love this kind of stuff.”

“You think so?” he leaned forward expectantly. “You don’t happen to know anyone who’d be able to come up with catchy tunes for them…?”

Zach looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm. No. Sorry.”

Sam’s eyes popped open. “…What? You don’t?”

Zach shrugged. “I’m no musician. Don’t know any musicians. Except this one regular I was on friendly terms with – played piano at Carnegie Hall, he said. But I think he just died. Happened on the street out there. Horrible accident…”

Sam gawked at him as he looked back down at the notebook, flipping through the pages.

“Hey, have you ever seen that kids show, ‘Sesame Street?’ I’m learning to make puppets like that. I really wanna work on that show.” He grinned up at Sam. “With these little rhymes, you could easily be a writer on it. We should team up!”

Sam’s face brightened as the words came out of Zach’s mouth.

“Yes, I’d love that!” he said.

“Imagine we had a showreel to send ‘em with my puppets reciting these poems. We could really make an impression!” He glanced down at his watch. “Aww, shucks, I’m due back at work.”

He handed Sam the notebook. “Can we continue this conversation another time?”

“Absolutely,” said Sam, feeling immeasurable relief. He pulled a pen from his bag and flipped the notebook to the back, sliding it back towards Zach. “Since I can’t give you my number, could you write yours?”

Zach penned the number beside his name. “I’m looking forward to hearing from you again,” he said as he handed it back, chugged the remainder of his coffee, and gave one final grin, before hurrying away.

Sam felt the tension in his shoulders release, as he sighed, smiling to the ceiling.

And then Katie was in Zach’s seat, an expectant look on her face. “So… how’d it go?”

“It went great! I think these two are gonna do good things together, though not quite in the way I’d expected.”

He peered down at the number in the notebook, before closing it up and putting it back in his purse. He felt a sense of accomplishment, of completion.

He took Katie’s hand. “Katie, you were incredible today. Thank you.”

Katie laced her fingers with his. “Does this mean you’re… leaping now, or whatever?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded. “Hopefully all of this will be undone before you know it. Goodbye, Katie. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sam…” Katie murmured, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

Sam maintained eye contact as he waited the crackle that signified a leap… and nothing happened.

“Is something supposed to happen now?” Katie said, tilting her head.

“I thought so.”

Katie grimaced. “…Oh boy.”

13. Broken Family

Sam was silent as he and Katie made the relatively short walk to the hospital. He wasn’t much in the mood for talking, and he apparently now had to watch his feet closely so they didn’t snag on the slightest crack in the pavement and trip him over.

Nothing I’ve tried has brought me any closer to fixing this, he thought. God, if only I had Al to tell me what I need to do.

As they passed the brick facade of a store, an unexpected burst of anger surged through Sam, and he slammed a closed fist against the wall.

“Are you… okay?” Katie asked, her voice quiet and high-pitched. Sam realised the action had frightened her.

“Sorry. I guess my emotional regulation might be on the fritz now, too.” He inspected his hand, where spots of blood pooled at various grazed points on his knuckle. “I’m just frustrated.”

He gestured at the brickwork. “It’s just been one brick wall after another, you know? Every time I dare hope, every time I try to claw my way out of this mess…”

He slapped the wall with an open palm. “It always leads to a dead end.” He held his hand there against the wall, bowing his head.

Katie’s arms slid around his waist, and she squeezed. “We have to keep trying…”

She propped her head on his back. “What if there’s still more you have to do? Maybe you have to – I dunno, set up a real date with the guy, then leave notes all around your apartment to make sure she goes. Maybe that’ll let you leap.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sam knew she may well have been on the right track, but at that point, he just couldn’t think about it any longer. “Let’s just go see Mom and Dad for now.”

“Okay, Sammy.” Katie let go of his torso and shifted her hands to his arm, which she gripped tightly, and tugged. “Watch your step!”

Sam allowed himself to be led by his sister, staring at his feet until he heard a sudden screech of car brakes. His head whipped toward the noise, and his eyes halted movement as he spotted a fluffy grey cat sitting on a fence across the street.

He turned to Katie, tapping her shoulder. “Hey, that looks like—”

As his gaze flicked back to the fence, the cat was gone.

“What?”

“I thought I saw… hmm. Never mind. It’s nothing.”

Do I have to add hallucinations to my growing list of symptoms, now? Great. Just what I needed.

*          *          *

As Sam and Katie reached the hospital room, Doctor Marshall looked up from what appeared to be a deep discussion with Thelma, as John looked on from the bed.

“Oh, hello,” the doctor said, smiling at Katie. “I was just telling your parents here that we’ve managed to secure bypass surgery for tomorrow.”

“Really?” Sam asked, hardly able to believe it.

Doctor Marshall nodded. “Considering the… uniquely tragic circumstances in this family at present, the hospital directors made the call to bump Mister Beckett to the top of the list. Apparently one Professor LoNigro is leading a donation drive on campus to help fund it, too.”

Sam looked at his father, pale and laden with heart monitor sensors. The old man smiled back, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Seems my chances of seein’ Christmas this year are five percent if I don’t go under the knife, and fifty percent if I do,” he said with a resigned sigh. “S’pose I’ll take the higher of the two.”

He craned his neck, looking at the comatose form of his son. “Hey son, you hear that? Fifty-fifty chance we get to meet up at the pearly gates. How ‘bout it? Don’t think you get out of milking the cows in our farm up in Heaven, you hear? I got a list of chores the length of your arm. But you can share with Tom.”

The attempt to lighten the mood only served to darken it, as Sam exchanged maudlin looks with Katie and Thelma.

“You sure cleaned up nice,” John continued, regarding Sam with an impressed smile.

“I gave her a makeover,” Katie said. Sam noticed she still had a firm grasp on his arm, and wondered if it was as much for her as it was for him.

“Golly, you two are like a couple of sisters already,” Thelma commented. “Seems like Sam picked a good one.”

“Uh, thank you…” Sam mumbled. “Katie’s pretty great.”

He turned his eye to Doctor Marshall. “Thank you for helping him.”

“The higher-ups made a rare compassionate call,” the doctor replied. “Let’s just hope we find success come tomorrow.”

He strolled to the door, and nodded to the room. “Get a good sleep tonight – especially you, Missus Beckett. Don’t want you to be the next patient I see for throwing her back out sleeping in a chair.”

And he was gone.

Sam gave his mother a crooked grin. “He’s right, you know. My door is open to you, Mo—Missus Beckett.”

“Oh, Thelma – go on,” said John. “I’m a big boy. You look like death warmed up.”

Thelma raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Says the old coot whose ticker’s about as healthy as the rusty old tractor in the back paddock.”

“That’s still there?” Sam wondered aloud, and Katie gave him a warning pinch. He closed his mouth.

“Thelma, get yourself into a real bed, alright?” John continued, apparently not having noticed Sam’s outburst. “I’m in plenty good hands here.”

Thelma sighed. “Oh, fine. But you’d best survive the night, John – you hear me? If I come in at the crack of dawn tomorrow and find an empty bed, I’m gonna march up to Heaven myself and give you a piece of my mind.”

She smiled up at Sam. “Yolanda, dear. Let me repay your kindness by cooking you a nice dinner. It’s the least I could do.”

“Missus Beckett,” Sam said, unable to control his grin, “I wouldn’t miss the chance to taste your cooking.”

14. Elusive Vegetables

As expected, Ma Beckett’s dinner was an exquisite feast of roast beef and vegetables with all the fixin’s. Sam had a smile on his face as he took his first bite, and allowed the nostalgic flavours to melt into his tongue. It had been too long.

“Gosh, I missed this…” he murmured. Catching the look Katie was giving him, he added: “A nice home-cooked family meal, I mean.”

“You haven’t been with family in a while, then?” asked Thelma, as she mopped up some gravy with a dinner roll. “Are you far from home?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam said with a smirk. “Haven’t seen home in a long, long time.”

He gazed down at his plate, his fork struggling to pick up peas.

“How did you meet Sam, anyway?” his mother continued. Sam pursed his lips as he struggled to come up with an answer.

“You met him at college, right?” Katie said, as he felt her foot tapping against his shin. “Med school or something.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Med school.”

“Ah, that explains a few things,” said Thelma. “Tell me, honey: how was my boy doing? With all those degrees going at once, I was always terribly worried about his health.”

“He was doing just fine,” Sam said with a quick shrug. Sam couldn’t, however, actually remember how he’d been doing at this time of his life, beyond the grief and guilt after his father’s death. He knew he’d buried himself in his studies in the aftermath of the death, but everything else was pretty patchy. “Of course, having a workload like that would be stressful to anybody.”

Thelma nodded. “Well I’m glad he found time enough for a little fun,” she said, gesturing towards Sam. Sam felt heat rising in his cheeks at this.

He realised that he’d been failing to get peas onto his fork all this time, and gave up on them, moving on to the meat, which seemed to fare a little better.

“He told me a lot about you,” he said to his mother. “And his Dad, and the farm. I almost feel like I know you already.”

“Sam always was a Momma’s boy,” Thelma said, before taking a bite of potato. Sam avoided the mocking grin Katie directed towards him at this comment, and chose instead to concentrate on the clumsy motions of his knife and fork.

*          *          *

Three hours later, an exhausted Thelma had finally crashed in Yolanda’s double bed, leaving Sam and Katie seated in the living room.

“I saw how much trouble you were having with the peas,” Katie said, grasping his hand.

“Yeah.”

“And it’ll be worse tomorrow, won’t it?”

“Probably.”

“Then let’s keep trying, Sam. Call Zach.”

Sam sighed. “Alright.” He squeezed her hand in gratitude. “I don’t know what I would have done without you here, Katie.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a wink, and stood. She grabbed Yolanda’s bag and pulled out the notebook. “I’ll write down whatever you need, since you probably can’t, right?”

She crossed to the wall phone, and waved Sam over. “Come on, already. Vamoose!”

Katie was already dialling the number as Sam reached the phone, and the two of them leaned into the handset, listening together as the phone connected.

“Hello?”

“H-hey Zach!” Sam said as his anxiety came barrelling back. “It’s… uh…”

Sam realised with some alarm that the name of the woman he’d leaped into had slipped out of his memory. Katie mouthed the name to him.

“…Yo-Yolanda.”

Sam mouthed back: ‘thank you.’

“Oh, hi!” said Zach brightly, “I was starting to think maybe I missed my shot with you.”

“Uhh, not at all. I’d love to meet up with you again. When are you free?”

“I’m free on Wednesday. We could get dinner downtown.”

“Sure, perfect. What time and where?”

“How about we meet up at Statler Park, at seven o’clock?”

“It’s a date.”

Katie wrote out the details, grinning, as Sam ended the call. She tore out the page, and hurried into the kitchen, where she stuck the page onto the fridge with a magnet.

“There. Now you can leap, right?”

“Sure hope so.” Sam’s gaze rose to the ceiling, and he held out his arms.

“Any time now,” he called out to the aether. “Please?”

As the seconds ticked by, Sam’s shoulders dropped, followed by his head.

“Well, thanks for trying,” he said to his sister, eyes flooding with tears. “Guess I’m stuck here for good, huh?”

Katie responded only by hugging him as he stood there, trying to control his breathing.

*          *          *

“Are you sure you’ll be alright on the couch?” Katie asked as she hovered in front of the bedroom door.

“Yes, I’ll call out if I need you. Go join Mom.” Sam swept his hands forward, ushering her into the room.

“Okay. Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, Katie.” Sam closed the door, and turned back toward the couch. But he’d only made it half way there when he noticed movement in a window.

There, on the apartment building fire escape, peeking in at him, was Blitzen.

Here we go again, he thought, approaching the window, being careful not to look away this time.

“What do you want?” he asked the cat, which blinked at him, before turning around. Sam pulled open the window, and reached out at the cat, trying to touch it and see if it was real.

“I like it when the night sky is this clear,” said a voice. “Makes me wish I’d had the chance to study astronomy.”

Sam’s gaze followed Blitzen to a shadowed figure sitting facing away from him. He was looking up at the sky, legs dangling off the metal platform. An arm reached out, giving the cat a scratch behind the ears.

Sam climbed out of the window, onto the platform, trying to get a look at the man’s face.

“Is this your cat?”

“I suppose he is now.” The man turned his head to look at Sam.

“Oh boy— this is… you’re not real.” Sam shook his head, trying to pretend he hadn’t just seen the face of his younger self.

The nineteen-year-old Sam shrugged. “I dunno, you could be right. I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth, though. Care for a chat?”

15. Unfinished Business

The younger Sam patted the metal grating beside him. Sam hesitantly threaded his legs through the balustrade and sat.

“I don’t understand this,” he muttered, studying the youthful face, which showed no signs of the gnarly injuries the Sam in the hospital had.

“When that car hit me,” said Young Sam, “and before I lost consciousness, I saw who it really was that I pushed out of the road, and I was really confused to see someone who looked like me and Dad smooshed together.”

He demonstrated his point with his hands, mashing his palms against one another.

“Then I was in this… bizarre twilight between life and death, and there was this voice that was talking to me. I don’t know who it was, but it told me about you. Or, I guess, my own future.”

He rested his chin on the railing, staring out into the night. “There isn’t much left of me in that bed. Kind of a bummer.”

“Not a whole lot left of me either,” Sam said. “Not for much longer, anyway.”

The younger Sam gave him a pitying glance. “You’ve been trying real hard, huh? To fix it.”

“And yet, nothing’s worked.”

He felt Blitzen’s soft fur against his leg, and looked down to see that the cat had squeezed between them.

“He’s got no hard feelings,” said Young Sam, gesturing to the cat, who was curling up. “You ended his suffering when you had to.”

He felt Blitzen vibrating against his skin, a soft purr drifting up from him.

“Sam, you gotta do the same for me.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? But—”

“I know. You’re worried something bad’s gonna happen.” Young Sam’s eyes were glimmering now. “But that voice, it said that it’s the only way to set things right. You have to cut the cord.”

“Lemme get this straight,” said Sam, incredulous. “You – a hallucination – want me to trust the direction of some nebulous voice that you heard, and I didn’t hear, that could kill both of us if I follow its instructions?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Okay, so this has been a fun little jaunt through my crumbling psyche,” he said, climbing inelegantly to his feet. “I am gonna go inside now, because I’m clearly in desperate need of some sleep.”

“Sam…”

“See ya.” Sam stepped into the window, and shut it, latching it with a flourish. He waved to the apparition before closing the curtains.

He spun around, breathing out.

“Cool thing about bein’ a ghost is the laws of physics don’t apply to me,” said Young Sam, who was now seated on the couch, looking smug.

Sam cursed under his breath. “Oh, would you just get lost?” he said in a low, but acidic tone, gesturing wildly. “I have enough to deal with already without the… the ghost of Christmas past jerking me around!”

“What do I need to do to make you listen to me?” asked the other Sam. “Do I need one of those little computer thingies with the flashing lights? I don’t think I have the budget for one of those.”

Sam rubbed his eyes, and flopped onto the couch beside his ghostly counterpart.

“You’re really not going away, are you?”

“Well, it’s either here or back listening to a machine doing the breathing for me, and that’s hardly a productive use of my time.”

“Well whether you’re here or not, I’m goin’ to sleep.” Sam brought his feet up onto the couch, which passed through Young Sam’s form as if he were Al.

“Okay, have at it, buddy. I can wait.”

Sam flashed him a narrow-eyed glare, before closing his eyes.

*          *          *

Sam awoke to the feeling of a slap against his cheek. Alarmed, he opened his eyes. Young Sam was standing over him, grinning.

“Good morning,” he said. “Did you feel that? Sure made a noise.”

Sam stretched out a wary hand towards him, and it passed through the body of his double.

“How come you can touch me?”

“Ghost stuff. It’s kinda hard, though.”

Sam’s eyebrows met, and he sat up, rubbing his cheek. “Ghost stuff…” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “I still think I’m just seeing things. And hearing, and feeling.”

Sam knew there were technical terms for these things, but the words weren’t coming to him.

“If you say so,” said Young Sam, and turned his attention to the bedroom door. “Sounds like Mom’s up and about.”

A moment later, the door opened, and Thelma appeared, smiling at Sam.

“Good morning, dear,” she said. “Did you sleep alright? I’m sorry for taking your bed.”

“That’s okay. I slept fine.”

“Aww Mom,” said Young Sam, “I wish you could see me. You might be a little more receptive. Katie would be for sure.”

As Thelma shuffled off to the kitchen to fix breakfast, Sam did his best to ignore the running commentary from his ghostly friend. He began to stand from his seat, only to find he couldn’t keep his balance, and he slumped back down, bewildered.

“More symptoms?” Young Sam asked. “Tough break. You’d better get to the hospital and pull the plug while you still can.”

“Would you just…”

“Who’re you talking to?” Katie was in the bedroom doorway, looking at the empty space where Sam’s ire had been directed. Then her eyes widened. “Did your hologram guy come back?”

Sam frowned. How the heck was he supposed to explain this? “No… I think I’m just seeing things that aren’t there.”

“Katie, it’s me!” said Young Sam, waving his arms in front of her. He changed tack, attempting to poke her in the arm. This only resulted in her scratching in the spot he was poking.

He spun around to Sam, waving around his index finger. “Ha, see? Could a hallucination make her do that? I think not!”

Sam glanced at him with a frown, before looking up at Katie. “Listen, could you help me up? My balance is off.”

Katie gave him a sympathetic look, and held out her arms to him. He gripped them, and she pulled him to his feet. He used her shoulder to steady himself, before letting go.

“Thanks… I think I’m okay for now.”

“Clock’s ticking, Gramps,” said Young Sam. “How much longer do you think you can chug along like this?”

His irreverence dissolved, leaving a wide-eyed, earnest expression on his face. “Please…”

Despite Sam’s reluctance, the plea cut through to his heart, and he bit his lip as he evaded the intense look Young Sam was directing towards him.

16. Heartfelt Words

Thelma stopped the car at the hospital entrance, and Katie helped Sam out. As their mother drove off to park, Katie appraised Sam, pausing a moment to lick her thumb and wipe a smudge off his face like their Mom would always do.

Sam’s face screwed up at the wet feeling. “Katie, please. I’d like some dignity.”

“You’ve been awful distracted,” she said, lacking the playful look she might have had the previous day after such a comment from him. “Just what have you been seeing, Sam? Is it scary?”

“If you tell her, she’ll believe you,” Young Sam commented, from his position a few feet away.

I know, thought Sam, and that’s exactly why I shouldn’t tell her.

“It’s just people who aren’t real, talking to me,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s something I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring over the years. Had some practice. So don’t worry about it.”

“‘Cause of that hologram thing? But how do you know it’s not another one of them?”

Sam smirked, casting a look at his younger self. “Believe me, it’s not.”

Young Sam placed a hand on his hip. “Well, if you could just let me fill that role for a minute and listen to what I’m telling you…”

As Sam spotted his mother returning from the parking lot, he turned to the doors of the hospital. “Come on, let’s go see Dad.”

He heard Young Sam heave a sigh as Katie led him in, keeping a firm hand on his arm.

*          *          *

Doctor Marshall awaited at John Beckett’s bedside, as Thelma, Katie, and Sam entered. Sam propped himself against a wall, the solid surface providing him some equilibrium.

As he peered over at the bed where his other self lay, he frowned as he saw the ghostly figure sitting on the side of the bed. Young Sam was looking down at himself, taking in the sight with what appeared to be genuine grief.

“So he’s going to be prepped for surgery at ten, and then the operation will take place over the following three to six hours,” Sam heard Doctor Marshall explaining to Thelma.

“And what happens if something goes wrong?” asked Thelma, tightly gripping the hand of her husband.

“Then we’ll do as much as we can. But your husband’s heart was weakened by the last heart attack, and there are no guarantees here, I’m afraid.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” said John. “I’m worried about the cows. Have they been getting water?”

“Don’t worry about them, honey,” said Thelma. “You know Henrietta Barkley, who works at the hairdressers? I called her up and got that husband of hers to take care of things. He just recently retired, so he’s got the time.”

“You mean Larry?” John sighed. “That man couldn’t pick a cow out from the middle of a flock of sheep.”

“Alright, Mister Beckett,” said Doctor Marshall, noting the increase in the man’s heart rate on the machine, “no sense worrying about things like that now. We need you nice and calm.”

He looked around. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said, before lowering his voice, and glancing at Thelma. “I suggest you make the best of this time with him now. Just in case.”

He gave a final smile as he left the room, and Sam exchanged an anxious look with Katie. She sidled up to him, taking his hand.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“Me too…”

“Me three,” said Young Sam, who had moved to the other side of him against the wall. Sam didn’t look at him.

“If there’s anything you have ever wanted to say to him,” Sam told his sister, “you should say it now.”

“You too,” she replied.

“What can I say?”

“I don’t know… but you shouldn’t say nothing. What if it’s the last thing you’ll ever be able to say to him?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Katie led him to the bed. “Daddy…”

John smiled up at her. “Katie, sweetheart, you sure have grown up lately, haven’t you?”

Katie took a seat on the edge of the bed, and hugged her father. “I love you, Dad. And I know Sam would say the same thing if he could.”

She stole a glance up at Sam, then at the bed where the other Sam lay.

A third Sam, who she couldn’t see, took a seat at the opposite side of the bed and placed a hand on his father’s.

“I don’t know if you can feel this, Dad,” he murmured, “but I’m here. And I love you.”

As Sam watched, he felt the old guilt return; guilt that he hadn’t been there the first time around.

John’s hand pulled away from the ghost’s touch with a shiver. “Boy, I think someone just walked over my grave. Got such a chill just now.”

Young Sam stood. “Ghost stuff,” he said, throwing Sam a look as he backed away from the bed.

Okay, fine. I can’t explain that so easily.

Sam moved to sit on the bed. “Mister Beckett…”

“Ah, I think I should be on a first name basis with my guardian angel,” John said, taking his hand. “Please, call me John.”

“John…” Sam said, and realised that it felt even more wrong to call his father that than ‘Mister Beckett.’

“I’m glad I was there for you when you needed help. And I’m sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances.”

“Yeah,” John said. “Not the most ideal family gathering, is it? For what it’s worth, I think Sammy here would be thankful for all you’ve done for us.”

“I am,” Young Sam said sincerely. “Really.”

Sam blinked back tears. “You make it out of there in one piece, alright?”

“If the Good Lord wills it,” said John.

“Yeah…” Sam leaned in, giving his father a hug. “Guess there’s no telling what he’s got in store.” He ignored the ghost’s protestation at this statement.

17. Power Play

It was a short time into the surgery when Sam found himself alone in the hospital room, seated by his younger self’s bed, watching the ventilator push air through the patient’s lungs. Sam was hunched over, his hands clasped at his chin. He was feeling particularly rudderless now.

“Just you and me now,” said the ever-present ghost, still leaning against the wall.

“I’m not doing it.”

Young Sam took a few steps towards him. “I’m only trying to help you. I want to save you the torment of losing everything about yourself. It happened to me already, remember? It stinks! Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“And what happens then? You die, then I get undone, then you don’t die again, and we’re put into an endless… thing…” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose as he realised he’d lost the word he was looking for. “You know.”

Young Sam had a look of pity on his face as he watched Sam struggle for his vocabulary. “A temporal paradox.”

“Yeah. That.”

“All I can say to that is… trust me.”

Sam glared up at him. “Well, I can’t do that.”

“How did I grow up to be such a stubborn old man?” a smirk tickled at Young Sam’s lips.

“Everything builds on what came before it,” replied Sam, and he couldn’t quite recall why that particular phrase had come to him.

Young Sam chuckled, and took a seat on the side of the bed. “So, we’re at an impasse, then.”

Sam shrugged. “Looks that way.”

“Mister—? Oh, he’s in surgery already,” came a new voice from the doorway. Sam looked up to find Professor LoNigro leaning into the room. He caught Sam’s eye.

“Uh… good morning,” he said cautiously. “…Sam?”

“Yeah, I haven’t gone anywhere,” Sam said in a resigned tone, returning to his pensive posture.

The professor continued into the room, as Young Sam watched with an unreadable expression.

“How are you?” the professor asked, studying Sam’s face. “Have you experienced any decline in—”

“I sure have,” Sam cut in. “It’s been miserable.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I keep forgetting things, I can barely walk straight, and I have the added bonus of seeing things that aren’t there.”

“Hallucinations?”

“Hallucinations! That’s the word I’ve been trying to remember,” Sam said with a frustrated sigh. He cradled his forehead in his hands. “I’ve tried everything to get out of here, but… I’m out of ideas.”

“I have an idea…” Young Sam said, holding up a finger.

“Oh, pipe down,” Sam snapped.

He rolled his eyes before glancing back at the bewildered professor. “…Hallucinations.”

“Hmm. So you followed my suggestion?” asked the professor, continuing the conversation.

“Look Professor, I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast. You’ll have to remind me what you suggested.”

A look of pity passed over Professor LoNigro’s face – a look Sam had been experiencing too much lately – and he leaned against the end of the bed, crossing his arms.

“I suggested you complete the task you came here to do… whatever that might have been.”

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed as the conversation returned to him. “Yes, I did that already. No good.”

In the moment of silence that followed, Sam realised that his ghostly counterpart was no longer in his eyeline. He glanced around, not catching sight of the apparition.

Wait, is he finally gone?

“Damn,” came a muffled voice from below. Sam peered down, and saw Young Sam on his hands and knees under the bed, reaching out to the power outlet that connected the life support machines. His hand passed through it. “Come on…” he mumbled, his fingers closing on themselves.

“Stop that,” Sam hissed at him.

“I’m just a hallucination, right?” he said as he grasped at the plug. “No need to worry about me being able to pull this out then, is there?”

Sam winced as the hand once again clutched at, but slipped through, the plug.

“What are you seeing now?” asked the professor, his voice laced with worry.

Sam frowned, and pointed at the unconscious man in the bed. “Him… kind of.”

Sam waved off the professor’s concerned glance.

“He keeps asking me to turn off the machines. He’s under the bed trying to do it himself right now, but he can’t get a hold of the plug because he isn’t real.” He raised his voice on the last two words, making sure Young Sam could hear it.

“Alrighty,” came the voice from under the bed, in a chipper tone. “Please keep ignoring me; it’ll help me concentrate.”

“Why does he want you to turn off the machines?” asked Professor LoNigro, intrigued.

“Because it’s the only way out of this paradox,” called out Young Sam.

Sam narrowed his eyes, peering under the bed. “No, it’ll start the paradox, dammit!”

“Not according to the man upstairs.”

“This again…” Sam looked back up to the Professor, rubbing his temples. “He thinks that by him dying, the paradox can be ended. But he’s full of it.”

“Yes, I’d be quite hesitant to trust a hallucination,” the professor agreed. “Particularly when a life hangs in the balance. I would suggest ignoring him.”

“Oh, I’ve been trying, believe me.”

Sam heard another grumble from beneath the bed, as Young Sam once more failed to get a hold of the plug. “It wasn’t nearly this hard to slap you in the face,” he lamented.

Sam huffed, avoiding looking down at him.

“All things considered, you seem to be taking this well,” said the professor, with a stroke of his chin.

“All things considered… sure,” Sam said with a wry look, which turned to panic when the life support machines suddenly lost power.

“No…” Sam said, and dove under the bed where Young Sam was laughing with a triumphant relief, beside the plug on the floor.

Sam frantically grabbed at the cord, and pushed it back into the wall.

“Hey! You have no idea how exhausting that was!” Young Sam protested.

Professor LoNigro’s alarmed face appeared under the bed. “Good Lord. How could…”

“Ghost stuff,” Sam muttered, staring daggers at Young Sam.

18. Ghost Stuff

“Hold this in place for me,” said Sam, his hand gripping the power plug. Professor LoNigro, still perplexed by the situation, obliged the request. Sam climbed out from under the bed and knelt beside it, not quite game to attempt to stand.  

He peered at the machines for a moment, unsure whether they would still be functioning correctly – but if they weren’t, he couldn’t tell. He’d once known all about this equipment, but that knowledge was gone. So he did the only thing he could think to, which was to hold his fingers against his younger self’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. It seemed steady.

The machine was only off for a few seconds, nothing could have happened, right?

He sighed with relief, and looked around for something heavy he could place against the plug so it couldn’t be pulled out again. Spotting a box of latex gloves on a shelf, he ducked under the bed, taking the Professor’s place.

“Could you grab me the box of gloves over there? We can shove it up against the outlet.”

“Okay…” said the professor, “but I’m a little spooked about what just happened, Sam. Are you telling me a ghost pulled this plug?”

Sam gave him a defeated look. “It’s sure looking that way, isn’t it?”

“If you believe I’m a ghost, why are you still refusing to believe the things I’ve been saying?” Young Sam was sitting in the corner of the room, sulking.

“Because I’m scared, dammit!” Sam barked. He peered out, making eye contact with the ghost. “I… don’t wanna die.”

Professor LoNigro slid the box under the bed, towards Sam. He pushed it up against the plug tightly, before crawling back out to the open room and against a wall a few feet from Young Sam.

“We’re already dead,” Young Sam mumbled, his eyes cast downward on his fidgeting hands. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

Sam had no counter to this, so he just sat in silence, head resting against the wall.

Professor LoNigro approached him, extending a hand. “Need some help?”

Sam grasped the hand, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Do you want to get some lunch?” he asked the professor, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but this room that held a mirror to his mortality.

*          *          *

A 19-year-old Sam Beckett watched his older form walk away, hand grasping at the walls for support, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his ghostly stomach.

He turned in the other direction, and began passing through wall after wall, navigating his way to the operating theater where his father slept.

And there he was: under a bright light, his chest cavity exposed to the air, and a red beating heart shining in the light.

“Oh, Dad…”

He was crying, and as tears dripped from his face, they dissolved into nothing.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, Dad. I was never meant to die. And you…” he swallowed hard. “You were.”

Sam put a hand against his father’s face, as the hands of surgeons moved in and out of his form.

“Dad, I wanted my life support turned off before I knew whether or not you’d live through this operation, because if you do survive, I won’t want to leave this timeline knowing you’ll die if I do.”

“I love you Dad, but…” His voice began to break. “But if I break the paradox, then lots of other people will be saved. Even Tom. So you see why I can’t wait to see your prognosis. I can’t let that stop me from doing what’s right. I’m sorry.”

He dropped to his knees. “But the other me is messing up everything I try. I just need for him to understand. How can two people with the same damn soul be at odds like this?”

The same soul?

Sam looked down at his hands, mind racing. They did have the same soul, albeit at different stages of development. What would happen if…?

Sam planted a ghostly kiss on his father’s forehead before taking a step back from the table. In a flash, the scenery changed around him and he was behind his older self. Old Sam was sitting at a table in the hospital cafeteria, across from Professor LoNigro, Katie, and his Mom.

“What did I miss?” he asked in a nonchalant tone, strolling to the table.

Old Sam, as usual, gave him no more acknowledgement than a momentary glance of disdain.

“Listen, I had this crazy idea…” He leaned in to Sam. “And I say crazy, because it might not work out the way I expect, but… humour me. Can we talk in private?”

Old Sam flicked him a nervous glance. “Uh, excuse me,” he said to the table, and unsteadily climbed to his feet. Katie stood and grabbed him.

“Hey,” she said, putting on a show for her mother, “I was wondering about that, um… flask I saw you drinking from earlier. Let me help you there.”

She heaved his arm over her shoulder. “Where to?”

“Bathroom.”

Young Sam followed the two of them. As they entered, Katie frowned at Sam as he clutched at the sink. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“It’s nothing. You can go back now, Katie.”

“Well, I won’t. You obviously need help getting around. I’m not going anywhere.”

Sam looked like a trapped animal for a moment, as Young Sam offered him a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind Katie seeing this,” he murmured, moving ever closer to his older self. “We’re not so different, so this shouldn’t be that weird. Just… hang on tight.”

And Young Sam stepped inside Old Sam.

19. Synergy

“W-wait… no!”

Sam clung onto the edge of the sink for dear life, gripped by a spine-tingling chill as the ghost of his past phased into his body. As the action was completed, a wave of nausea passed over him and his head flooded with what seemed like television static; slivers of images and thoughts overlapped and flickered. For a moment, he was lost in the barrage.

Stop! Don’t…

—don’t panic…

???

—no, it’s too late for that—

…!

calm down…

but I—

—why?

because…

Sam couldn’t make sense of his own thoughts, and he slumped to the floor as he tried to figure out what was happening. A chaotic mixture of thoughts, images and feelings passed through his mind in waves, and he couldn’t seem to distinguish which were his and which were the other Sam.

Other?

There’s really only one me—

—the only separation is… time…?

…are both the same?

No, not exactly…

“Sam!” Katie’s voice cut through the cascade of thoughts. “What’s happening?”

Differences in…

…perspective…?

“Uh…” Sam mumbled, his hands finding the cool stone floor, “I think I need to ride this out.”

He peered up at her through his one functioning eye. “Stay with me, okay?”

“Okay, Sammy,” she replied, watching him helplessly.

Unable to continue looking at her, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He could now almost comprehend what was happening, but he felt paralysed as to how to react to it; like he hadn’t decided, even though he was sure he had made up his mind a moment ago.

It felt like he was in a lab learning about fluid dynamics, but he was the experiment, demonstrating the inseparable blending of two identical fluids. And although the molecules came from different places, they were no longer distinguishable from one another, because they were reducible to atoms with identical properties. But, he had to wait for the turbulence to subside before he could accurately measure the new volume.

It was as though he was both nineteen and forty-six, both alive and dead, both student and leaper.

His quantum theories of time raced through his mind, fractured and disjointed, giving him an epiphany one second, and complete incomprehension the next.

…perspective… there’s only one perspective now, because—

I’m present in one time, one space, one mind… and yet—

He leaned forward, his breath heavy, but his panic was beginning to transform into something new.

—a lot changed in twenty-seven years…

Everything builds on what came before.

…and when you ball up the string, two moments in time touch one another…

Like a beam of sunlight through parted storm clouds, a moment of profound clarity hit Sam, and he saw the path forward.

Oh.

And then the clarity became rapidly clouded with the physical limitations of his deteriorating brain, and Sam opened his eyes with a gasp.

“Sam, what’s happening to you?!” Katie was crouching beside him now, her hands poised over him. “Do you need a doctor?”

Sam turned to her, eyes wide. “No… no, I’m… okay.” He held out a hand to her. “Could you help me up…?”

She took his hand. “You’re really okay? Was that some kind of fit, or—?”

“Is that what it looked like?” Sam reached his other hand to the sink, and, with Katie’s assistance, he climbed to his feet. “It was a little different to—”

He caught his reflection in the mirror, and let out a breath as he assessed the face of the woman reflected back. Although he knew he’d been seeing this face for days, it somehow inspired wonder.

“Far out…” he said under his breath, and reached out a trembling hand to touch the mirror.

It occurred to him that a kind of bridge had been built between his teenage self and middle-aged self.

No, not a bridge, more like… a knot.

Although he knew he’d been leaping for years, the experience of it was simultaneously new to him, and it was like experiencing it for the first time.

Did I just say ‘far out?’ I haven’t said that since— how long has it been? Years or days?

A smile crept across his lips as he realised how absurd this was.

Katie was staring at him nervously. “Are you okay? Do you remember who I am?”

“Of course I do, Katie.” Sam ran the faucet, splashing cold water on his face before catching her eye in the mirror. “I’m just… seeing everything with fresh eyes.”

So to speak, he thought, noting that his left eye still had no visual input.

“But what was that, Sammy?” Katie spoke with a tremor, and he could tell he’d deeply shaken her with this.

“I’m okay, I promise.” Sam reached out, taking her by the arm. “Listen, remember when you thought I was a ghost?”

“Sure…”

Sam chuckled, wrapping his arm over her shoulder. “If I can manage to put it into words, I’ll explain on the way. Let’s go.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“I need to go see… me.”

20. Biting the Bullet

“I don’t get it.”

Sam shrugged at Katie as the two approached the door to the room where his younger body lay.

“I told you it was hard to put into words,” he said. “But the bottom line is… I was— my ghost was right.”

Katie bit her lip. “Letting yourself…”

Sam gave her a grave nod as he placed his hand on the door handle. “I’m not thrilled about it, but… well, I can either rip the Band-Aid off now or wait until I end up on life support too… either way it’s going to mean dying.”

“Sam… I don’t want you to go…”

“I know, Katie. But as soon as I do it, I—”

As Sam moved to turn the door handle, he found it turning from the other side. As the door opened, he came face-to-face with Doctor Marshall.

“Oh, there you are,” he said, a broad smile on his face. “I have good news for you. The operation was a success. They’re just closing him up now. I’d like to let Missus Beckett know; would you know where she is?”

Sam’s mouth fell open.

He’s going to live…

He stumbled backward as Katie directed the doctor towards the cafeteria, feeling a pit in his stomach.

He propped himself against a wall and leaned his head back, closing his eyes tightly.

“Sam, Dad’s gonna be… Sam?”

Katie’s hand moved onto Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, it’s okay. We can see him before you… you know.”

“I didn’t want to know,” Sam opened his eyes, which were now filled with tears, and gazed through the distortion they caused, down at his sister.

“What? Why?”

Sam wiped a hand across his eyes. “You don’t understand what’s gonna happen as soon as I pull that plug, Katie. All of this will be undone… all my actions since the accident. I won’t be there to save Dad.”

Katie stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. “So you’re going to be alive again, but Dad…?”

“Dad’s gonna die.”

Katie stood silent for a moment, processing this information, and then she too began to sob.

“Whatever happens, I’m gonna end up having to deal with two deaths in the family,” she choked out. “First Tom, then either you or Dad… it’s not fair.”

Sam brought her into a hug. “Katie… if I correct the timeline, Tom’s going to live.”

“What?” Katie snapped her head up to face his.

Sam nodded. “I’ll be alive, and so will Tom. But Dad… Dad’s gonna have his heart attack alone on the farm, and he won’t make it.”

Katie buried her head back into his chest. “So now that you know he’s gonna live…”

“…I might as well be pulling the plug on him, too.”

Trading Tom’s life for another… why do I have to make this call again? And with Dad of all people?

Sam cradled Katie as the two of them cried it out.

*          *          *

John Beckett’s eyes fluttered open as Sam, Katie, Thelma, and Doctor Marshall gathered around his bed, which was now in a ward in a different part of the hospital than Sam’s comatose form.

“Well John,” said Thelma, “looks like Tommy and Sam are gonna be milking the cows in the sky without you.”

Sam exchanged a grim look with Katie at this.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll do fine,” John mumbled, still half asleep. “Good thing about Heaven cows is they don’t make a mess of the barn.”

Sam squeezed Katie’s hand, and leaned to whisper in her ear.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he said, his voice breaking. “It was one thing to end myself, but…”

Katie nodded, looking at him through haunted eyes. “I understand,” she whispered back.

She moved to the bedside, and hugged her father.

“I love you Daddy,” she said, kissing his forehead. “I always will, and I’m sorry for everything I ever did to hurt you.”

“Well gee, I ought to be in hospital more often,” said John. “Never been complimented this much in my life. I love you too, Katie.”

Katie stood, and helped Sam to the bedside, before stepping back.

“Da—Mister— uh, John,” Sam fumbled, taking his father’s hand, “this is gonna sound a little strange coming from me, but… I love you too.”

John squinted. “Well I don’t know why, but that doesn’t sound strange to me at all.” He gave Sam a pat on the hand.

Sam turned to meet Katie’s eye, but she wasn’t in the room any longer.

Katie…?

Sam shot to his feet, and a bout of vertigo overtook him. He stumbled backwards into Doctor Marshall.

“Uh… sorry,” he said. “I uh… have to go.”

Without support, his balance problems were plain for everyone to see, but at this point he didn’t care about that – so long as he stayed upright.

As he followed the corridors, he realised he’d completely forgotten the room number he was looking for, along with his mental map of the hospital itself.

He stood at an intersection of hallways, looking around for a moment, trying to piece together where he had to go, but he was completely lost.

Is Katie really gonna…? Would she do that?

“Sam…? Are you—”

Sam’s head turned, spotting Professor LoNigro. As he approached, Sam grabbed him by the arm, frantic.

“Professor, help me…”

“What do you need?” the professor asked, reacting to Sam’s desperation with more pity than urgency.

“I need to get back to… that room… where I am.”

The professor took a moment to parse what he was trying to say, before scooping Sam’s arm over his shoulder.

“Okay,” he murmured, in a voice that Sam interpreted as an attempt to soothe him.

“Quickly…”

The professor was in less of a hurry than Sam would have liked, and when they finally arrived back to the room, he opened the door to find Katie sitting there with the plug in her hands, staring up at the two of them with red eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” she said. “But you said you couldn’t do it and… I think I understand that this is how it has to be.”

Sam offered her a weak smile. “You did the right thing. I love you, K—”

In an instant, Sam felt himself falling into a bright blue light, with the sounds of screeching car brakes ringing in his ears.

And in the very next instant, he was behind the wheel of a car, driving on a familiar street, as a woman wandered out onto the road.

Oh, shit!

Sam slammed his foot on the brake, and everything seemed to slow down as he watched Yolanda Bennett – who Sam knew was actually himself, being shoved back by another version of himself.

Sam turned the wheel to the left, away from the both of them, and the car began to spin before coming to a halt at the kerb on the other side of the road, facing  the opposite direction. It was as though he’d just done the most extreme parallel park of his life.

And then he felt himself falling again, and he was lying on the sidewalk, making bewildered eye contact with the nineteen-year-old Sam, who was still upright and very much alive.

“Oh boy… are you alright, Miss?”

21. Weaving Threads

Sam sat up, feeling the fresh stinging pain in his grazed hands, and watched his younger self scurry towards him from the street. He noted that both his eyes were in normal working order, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’m sorry I pushed you there. I thought that car was right about to…” Young Sam hesitated a moment, brow furrowing. “Huh. Have we met?”

Sam stared up at him, cautious. “I don’t, um, think so.”

Young Sam blinked a few times, and shook his head. He held out a hand to Sam. “Here, let me help you up.”

Sam allowed himself to be assisted to his feet, and Young Sam caught sight of the graze on his palm.

“Oh, sorry. Do you want me to clean this up for you?” he pulled open his satchel bag and started rummaging around. “I’m a med student; might have a few stray swabs in here. If I’m lucky I may even have gauze.”

Sam smiled, feeling a new affinity with this version of himself. “Y-yeah, alright.”

The scene was giving him déjà vu, not quite the same as before; now it felt like he was in a play, acting out a pre-written scene, speaking lines he had rehearsed – but at the same time, they were being written as he spoke them.

Across the street, a flash of colour waved to him from behind the corner of a shop. Sam squinted, realising an arm was waving a handlink, trying to get his attention.

Al?

“Ah, here we go,” said Young Sam, producing a small alcohol swab in a package, and ripping it open. Sam held out his hands, distractedly allowing him to wipe the dirt off. The alcohol stung, but it wasn’t a big deal.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” Young Sam said as he cleaned the wounds. “Sam Beckett.”

“…Yolanda,” replied Sam, eyes still on the waving handlink. “Listen, thanks for helping me there – or trying to, anyway – but I’ve gotta get moving.”

Young Sam nodded. “Sure, well, sorry again that I pushed you over. I genuinely did not expect that driver to pull off a move like that.”

Sam snorted. “It was pretty impressive,” he said.

If I do say so myself.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you. Good luck in your studies…” Sam waved as he carefully looked both ways before crossing to where Al was hiding.

“Al? What are you doing hiding like this?” he asked, laying eyes on his friend. Immediately, he felt a wave of relief to see the hologram, finally.

“You were standing there talking to your former self, Sam,” Al said, gesturing wildly. “The two of you have matching mesons and neurons – he’d have seen me! I wasn’t about to stroll on over there and start a little chitchat with the pair of you, now was I?”

“Okay, good point,” said Sam, scratching the back of his head, before taking a deep breath. “Listen… Al… you have no idea how happy I am to—”

“What the–?” Al interjected, bashing his handlink. It let out a whistle and a screech as he glared at the blinking lights in confusion. “Sam, Ziggy’s throwing up some really weird stuff here. I don’t know what she’s trying to tell me.”

He squinted at the display. “What the hell does ‘aversion of catastrophic paradox loop’ mean?”

Sam gave him a crooked smile. “I might be able to shed some light on that.”

*          *          *

One convoluted explanation later, Al was staring at Sam with arched brows.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head when Junior pushed you over?” he asked, jabbing his cigar at Sam.

Sam gestured to the handlink. “It lines up with what Ziggy’s saying, right? She knew something was up.”

“Well, yeah, but are you telling me you lived three or four days, erased the Project from existence, saved your father’s life, suffered brain damage, talked to your own ghost, and then leaped into someone who was about to crash into two other versions of you — all in the last forty-five minutes since I left you this morning?”

“…More or less.”

Al narrowed one of his eyes, as he punched at the handlink, cigar hanging from his mouth.

“Well, Ziggy says that’s plausible, so I’ll… take your word for it. But this is why you gotta avoid your younger self at all costs, Sam.”

Sam scoffed. “I wasn’t the one who sent me to this part of town, now was I? It was a complete coincidence.”

“Well, all’s well that ends well. Let’s go finish this so you can get outta here.”

Sam nodded. “Zachary Fernandez, cashier. Makes puppets, wants to work on Sesame Street.”

Al furrowed his brow at this. “Puppets? Ziggy didn’t give me anything about that.”

“Trust me,” Sam said, striding in the direction of the grocery store, “I already met him once.”

22. Third Wheel

Sam snatched up a bottle of Fresca from a display fridge and got into Zach’s queue.

Al was standing by the entrance, shopping carts passing through his image. He took a long drag on his cigar, looking just past Sam, before his eyes popped wide open.

He stepped back, trying to make himself inconspicuous – which wasn’t exactly something his colourful outfit was made for – as Sam heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Yolanda!”

Sam turned around and gave his younger self a nervous smile. “Oh, hello.”

“Uh, I swear to God I’m not following you,” said Young Sam, holding a basket up. “I was just getting some TV dinners… see?”

Sam chuckled. “I believe you.”

“You want me to pay for that?” he asked, pointing at the soda. “It’s the least I could do after pushing you over.”

“That’s very chivalrous, Sam, but it’s fine – really.” Sam was having difficulty keeping a straight face.

Am I coming on to me?

He wondered for a moment whether his younger self was just trying to understand the weird feeling he must have been experiencing looking at him, or if he was just trying to clear his conscience. Or if he was just being guided by youthful hormones.

Sam decided it might have been all three. Which would make his former approach with Zach a little awkward in the kid’s presence, and he would have preferred not to give himself a humiliating memory upon which to ruminate.

I need to try something else.

“Next please,” said Zach from behind his register. Sam handed him the bottle.

“Hi there, Zach,” Sam said, mustering up all the confidence he could find, “I heard through the grapevine you like to make puppets.”

Zach paused, meeting Sam’s eye. “You did? Who are you?”

“Yolanda Bennett,” he said, extending a hand. “I have a proposition for you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Young Sam leaning in with fascination.

Zach took his hand weakly, and Sam gave it a firm shake. “When are you on break next?”

Zach checked his watch. “Uh… half hour from now.”

“I’ll be here, okay?” Sam dropped a couple of dimes into his hand. “I promise it’ll be worthwhile.”

He took his bottle with a grin and moved towards the far wall, where he leaned against it and cracked open the soda.

Hope that worked.

He turned his head, and nearly choked on the soda when he saw Al emerge through the wall.

“Is the coast clear?”

“You should probably make sure of something like that before you walk through a wall,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “He’s being served now, so he could be passing this way any minute.”

Al sighed. “What a pain in the butt.”

“You could always change into something less conspicuous,” Sam said with a grin. “Assuming you own anything like that.”

Al sent him a dirty look. “Just get Junior out of the picture, would you? I’m outta here.”

Al tapped a button on the handlink, and disappeared.

A minute later, Young Sam emerged from the checkout with an armful of paper bags. He approached Sam with a curious look on his face.

“Hey, what was that about with Zach?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, I heard through a mutual friend that he’s interested in landing a job in children’s television, and I happen to want to be a children’s writer. I thought we could collaborate on a demo reel.”

Young Sam’s mouth drew into a smile. “Far out! What kind of writing?”

Sheesh, teenage me doesn’t give up, does he?

Sam reached into his handbag and pulled out his notebook of work. “Nursery rhymes, limericks, that kind of thing.”

Young Sam flipped open the book and read, his smile gradually widening.

“These’d make good songs,” he mused.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” said Sam. “But… Yolanda Bennett is no musician.”

“I am.” Young Sam looked up sheepishly. “A musician, I mean. Don’t suppose you want a third collaborator…?”

Do I? Or would that mess up my own history?

Sam sure would have liked to get Ziggy’s opinion on the matter.

Oh, what the hey. I conquered one paradox already today.

“You would really do that for a stranger you just met?”

“Sure. It’ll be a welcome distraction from my thesis. I’m seeing physics equations in my dreams; I think I could use a break.”

Sorry, Al.

“Well, alright then. Thank you, Sam.”

23. A Stitch In Time

Sam closed the door of the women’s bathroom, and leaned against it with a sigh.

Al was standing at a stall, inspecting the state of a toilet. “I always assumed ladies bathrooms were clean and, I dunno— fragrant or something. I guess I had it wrong. Yick!”

“Oh, there’s certainly a… fragrance… of some kind in here,” Sam said, screwing up his face.

Al looked at him expectantly. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of Sam Junior? Now you’re out to lunch with the kid— what’s the big idea?”

“I think I’m onto something here. Ask Ziggy what the odds are of Yolanda and Zach landing work in TV with and without my help.” Sam shook his head. “I mean, the help of the other me.”

Al tapped in the data request, and the handlink responded with a squeal and blip.

“Well that’s somethin’,” he mumbled. “According to this, you’ve already got it to a hundred percent with the help of Junior. Shouldn’t you have leaped by now? Don’t tell me this wasn’t what you were here for.”

Sam peered into a mirror, inspecting the makeup on his face that it felt like he had put there years ago at this point.

“I have a feeling I have one last thing to do before I get my ticket out of this leap,” he said, giving Al a grim smile.

*          *          *

As Zach peeled off to return to work, Sam walked side-by-side with his young self along the street.

“So, Sam, are you far from home? When was the last time you saw your family?”

Young Sam tilted his head. “I dunno, I guess it was last summer. They’re in Indiana. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you know…” Sam said, staring into the distance. “I was just thinking about my… Grandpa. He died recently. It had been a while since I’d seen him, and just one day I got a call saying he’d had a heart attack. I always wish I’d called him more, and visited.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Young Sam, looking at his feet.

“You should always make time to talk to family,” Sam continued. “You never know when it’ll be for the last time. I mean, maybe you’ll get hit by a car tomorrow after pushing some lady out of the way. Seems plausible now, huh?”

Young Sam met his eye, with an amused smirk.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Listen, I have to get back to campus. It was great meeting you today, even though it was under weird circumstances.”

“Yeah, I think getting pushed over might have been the best thing that’s happened to me,” Sam said with a grin. “Keep in touch, okay?”

And Young Sam turned a corner, leaving Sam walking alone, until Al blinked in next to him.

“Get this, Sam,” he said, barely concealing his amusement. “You’re gonna go on to date Yolanda for about six months.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah… I think I picked up on that at some point. And I go on to call home tonight, don’t I? I talk to Mom, and Katie, and Dad.”

“You remember that?”

Sam shrugged. “I have some kind of a connection to this version of me now, so I could just kind of feel it out.”

Dad still died, but… I had a little less guilt about it. A little.

“I think it’s time. Finally.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Adios, kid.” Al gave him one of his finger waggles to bid him goodbye, and Sam leaped.

The End