Chapter 25
Back in San Diego, another unlucky day had transitioned into night, and although Brenda had managed to make it through the worst of her withdrawals and was now sleeping feverishly, Sam B was wide awake, nervously pacing the living room. Apparently, now his anxiety was standing in the way of a restful night. It was always something.
Al poked a nervous head into the Imaging Chamber, and a startled Sam stopped short of walking through the hologram.
“Well?” he asked, planting his hands on his hips.
“Well what?” Al asked, shrinking under Sam’s glare.
“Did you find anyone that’ll help Brenda with the baby?”
Al grimaced, tapping at the handlink. “Well, Ziggy can only speculate, you know. Not like she has psych profiles of everyone in town. You tried the parents, I assume?”
Sam nodded grimly and clawed at his hair, agitated. “I called Bobby’s parents, I called Brenda’s parents. They’re interstate—of course—and they were real quick to congratulate the couple on the pregnancy, but as soon as I brought up the possibility of getting their help—” he laughed bitterly, throwing up his hands, “—suddenly, it was all excuses. Who knew retired people had so many pressing obligations? ’Cause I certainly didn’t! Missus Deleon’s bingo habit sure takes up a lot of her time, apparently. Much more important than an infant grandchild, am I right?”
He resumed pacing as he continued his rant.
“And don’t get me started on Brenda’s father; he hasn’t even visited Brenda in years, and when he bothers to call her, it’s because he wants to ‘borrow’ money. Her Mom’s been living in a remote part of Alaska for six years, and I don’t think she even has a phone… this family is a nightmare, Al.”
“Okay, cool your jets, Sam,” Al said in a soothing tone, holding a hand out. “Just breathe, okay?”
“I can’t relax, Al,” Sam said, voice strained. “I’m running out of time here. And options.” He collapsed on the couch, shaking his head. “Maybe this baby wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I leaped in here because I’m the fat being trimmed, and I’m doomed to be killed, just like Bobby.”
There. He’d said it. The elephant in the room.
“Sam… I’ve never heard you talk like this before.” Al passed through the couch to the other side, coming into his friend’s eye line. “Listen to me. Ziggy’s positive you and the hippie are going to re-merge as soon as this leap is over. There’s no way you’re supposed to die, okay? Even given all of Sam A’s successes the past few days, I can tell he’s not all there—he’s too… you know… perky. Not nearly enough sarcasm! He doesn’t get annoyed enough by my innuendo, either. Frankly, I don’t want a Sam that hasn’t got you in him. It just wouldn’t be the same! You undersell your value, kid.”
Sam looked up at him, unconvinced.
“What value?” he spat. “This whole leap, the only thing I can think about is how much I don’t want to do this. Fears, doubts, anxiety. Anger and pain. Every part of myself I’ve always worked to overcome, but… it’s all I have now. I’ve been trying so hard to beat back these feelings enough to make a difference, but it’s getting harder every damn minute.” He felt his eyes welling up. “I just want to go home,” he whimpered.
“Oh, pal,” murmured Al, giving Sam a sympathetic, wide-eyed gaze. “You just gotta hang in there a little longer. We’ll get through this. We always do.”
“I’m so tired…” He rubbed at his eyes, releasing the tears that hadn’t, until then, breached the surface tension.
“Bobby?” came Brenda’s voice from the hall. “I heard you talking… is something wrong?”
Just leave me alone, lady. Please.
Instead of heeding his unspoken plea, she crossed to the couch and sat beside him.
“Bobby…” she said softly, spotting the tears running down his cheeks. Her eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “It’s okay, Bobby. I’m here.” She kissed him on the cheek, and guided his head onto her shoulder. “I guess it’s gotten to you too, leaving for the war, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you come home. And so will the baby.”
Sam felt conflicted; on one hand, he just wanted to get away from all of this and be alone, but on the other, he was desperate for the affection she was giving him. He gave in to the latter, and allowed himself to be comforted, much like he had been comforting her the night prior.
Al was watching silently, seemingly not knowing what to say, but too concerned to leave.
“Sorry you had to see me like this,” Sam mumbled to Brenda, as she caressed his hair.
Bobby probably likes to act all macho. Brenda may never have seen him cry before.
“It’s alright. Even big strong men cry sometimes,” Brenda said sagely. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of. Now come on to bed. You need your sleep, honey.”
“Do what she says, Sam,” Al chimed in. “You gotta go clock a few zees. Or a lot. You’re wound up tighter than Tina’s silver hot pants.”
At this, Sam shot him an exasperated glare.
“See, that face right there,” Al grinned, pointing his cigar at Sam. “That’s the Sam I know.” He winked. “Now go hit the hay already; you look like the walking dead.”
Bone-weary and barely thinking, Sam allowed Brenda to escort him to the bed, where she continued holding him close, until the haze of sleep finally took him away.
But although the much-needed slumber was welcome, the nightmare that followed was not.
It was an unsettling Greatest Hits of some of his most fearful moments, stripped of the hope he’d had at the time, as well as most of the context, and always ending in disaster.
Sitting in an electric chair as the switch was pulled, flowing seamlessly into having high voltage electrodes attached to his temples, which turned to lightning in the sky as he flew a plane through a storm as the sensors went haywire, which became a howling hurricane with debris flying towards him, and then a sandstorm that buried him in an ancient tomb, and then a wall opened up and he was cast out to sea among garbage, leaving him sinking in the ocean, a haze of blue water surrounding him and filling his senses until everything became a swirling, bright blue light.
And then his ears filled with a cruel laughter, that at first sounded like Al’s voice, then morphed into Ziggy’s voice, and then for reasons unknown to Sam, became the voice of Weird Ernie from his first leap, and eventually became layered with the voices of a hundred different people, each one strangely familiar, but he didn’t remember who they were.
And then it was like he was receiving an assault from all directions; every time he’d ever been beaten, shot, or stabbed. Each bruise, each wound a reminder of the constant danger that surrounded him, that followed him no matter what.
When Sam finally awoke, he was curled into a ball on the floor beside the bed, drenched head to toe in sweat.
And he didn’t know if he had been better off asleep with the horrors of his nightmares, or facing another day that drew him ever nearer to a violent death, with no relief in sight.