Chapter 37
Of all the crazy, unbelievable things happening this leap, this one really took the cake.
Al’s hand raked through his hair as he watched his best friend and his best friend rolling on the grass, each attempting to land a fist on the other, and equally defending themselves.
On the side of the road, the rainbow bus stood as a gaudy landmark against the plain suburban backdrop, and in its window, three faces watched on with open mouths.
As if thinking as one, the Sams each rolled away from one another and scrambled to their feet. They held up their fists and began circling one another with a wide stance.
“Stop it already!” Al cried. “Come on, let’s just talk it out like adults! Please!”
The Sams didn’t seem to acknowledge his pleas as they began shooting remarks at each other.
“Would you just let me help you?” Sam A snarled. “All you have to do is stand down and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Can’t do that,” Sam B said, shaking his head. “If you get yourself killed, Ziggy says I die too. It’d be like signing my own death warrant.”
Sam A licked his lips, not taking his eyes off Sam B. “That true, Al?”
“That’s what Ziggy told me.”
Al didn’t mention that Ziggy didn’t actually have a figure for that at all—such an unknown was beyond her ability to formulate odds. The handlink had merely shown what Ziggy thought would motivate Sam B. But Al sure wasn’t about to admit that.
“Well, that’s okay,” Sam A said quietly, and moved in, attempting to give Sam B the Beckett Flying Noodle Kick—only to be blocked. The two of them, having the same martial arts skill set, were remarkably evenly matched. Al hoped that would mean they’d tire themselves out before they beat one another to a bloody pulp.
“Uh—excuse me?!” Sam B snapped, incredulous. “You think it’s all copacetic if I die? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He moved in with a backhand, but Sam A dodged and caught him on his midsection with an elbow. Sam B withdrew as he recovered from the blow.
“You may not have noticed,” Sam A said, “but you’re me. And I’m you. We’re one person.”
“And your point?”
“We leap to help other people. What happens to us—it just doesn’t matter.”
Al’s mouth dropped open. So that was the problem with ‘Mister Perfect.’ No sense of self-preservation.
Sam A came in low with a leg sweep. Sam B managed to avoid it with one leg, but the other was knocked off balance, and Sam lunged forward, grabbing his double and bringing them both down to the grass once again, where Sam B managed to pin him.
“God, I thought I was full of self-loathing,” he said as he jabbed a knee into Sam A’s stomach, winding him. “But at least I’ll fight for our damn lives. You don’t even care!”
“I care…” Sam A said, breathless. “I care too much…”
He thrust upward with his legs, throwing Sam B off him, and he rolled away, getting back on his feet smoothly as Sam B did the same.
“Just not about us!”
“Not while you’re around,” Sam A muttered.
Al stood, watching with wide eyes, as understanding began to dawn on him. And that’s why you beat yourself up, isn’t it, Sam? This fight has been going on since long before the two of you split up.
It was the inner conflict: Sam’s innate drive to save everyone, always at odds with his desire to make it home and live his own life. Al had seen both extremes over Sam’s time leaping, and now all of a sudden, this fight seemed all too familiar.
He couldn’t let it go on, not like this.
Al moved between the newly separated brawlers, holding out his arms. “That’s enough!”
But his attempt was futile, as Sam B lunged straight through his hologram to Sam A, pushing him against the wall of Bobby’s house with a thud. He’d used Al for cover.
Damn, that hurts.
“You keep us wanting this, don’t you? To keep leaping? You want us to keep going until we’ve lost everything.” Sam B, now with the upper hand, began raining blows on Sam A’s face, a word matching each strike. “Quit… being… such… a martyr!” He gave one final punch to his gut, as he shouted: “I don’t want to help people! I want to go home!”
“Sam, stop it!” Al barked. “You’re gonna kill him!”
Sam B chuckled. “That’s what he wants, isn’t it? To sacrifice himself?”
Sam A’s face was red with the flurry of hits, and he appeared dazed. But when Sam B looked towards Al, he used his final ounce of strength to kick him away hard, in the direction of the stairs leading up to the house entrance.
Sam B fell on the stairs, and a loud crunch rang out, followed by him swearing like a sailor.
“Agh! Dammit, goddammit!” he moaned, rolling over and clutching his wrist.
It didn’t take a doctor to see it was broken.
“Oh, jeez…” Al said, rubbing at his forehead. “That looks bad, Sam.”
As if coming out of a trance, Sam A seemed to realise just what he’d done, and rushed over to his counterpart in shock.
“I… I’m sorry,” he croaked, looking down at the skin-crawling angle Sam B’s wrist now displayed. “I’ll… call an ambulance.”
Sam B scowled up at him. “You do that.”
As the more beaten, but less pained Sam rushed into the house, Sam B turned his gaze to Al.
“Can you believe that jerk?” he asked, his face contorted with the pain his wrist was giving him.
Al was about to answer when the handlink gave a sharp jingle. He looked down at it, and his mouth drifted open as he read Ziggy’s updated data.
“Oh, Sam. You’re not gonna believe this.”
“What?” Sam B said through clenched teeth as he continued to gingerly nurse his broken bone.
“Well, you’ve got a broken arm, right?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”
“Sam, you can’t go on active duty with a broken arm.”
Sam B’s eyes widened as he processed the information. “What are you saying, Al?”
“Bobby Deleon’s deployment now gets postponed three months because of that little injury.” Al looked up from the handlink, grinning. “You did it. In the most painful way possible, sure. But you prevented Bobby’s death.”
“You’re kidding.”
“But, here’s the tricky part, Sam,” Al added. “Ziggy says you need to say Richie started the fight and you were defending yourself. And Richie has to make a statement to that effect. Otherwise you’ll have suspicion cast on you that you just happened to break a bone the day you were supposed to go to Vietnam, and there’s a whole process. You don’t want that kind of trouble, believe me.”
“If Sam A makes that statement, they’ll arrest him for draft dodging, Al.”
“He was going to end up in jail for that anyway, you know.”
Sam looked down at his mangled wrist. “Yeah, but…”
“Can you talk to Richie in the Waiting Room?” Sam A chimed in, coming out of the door with a neutral expression on his face. “I called an ambulance, they’ll be here soon.”
“How much of that did you hear?” Al asked him, an eyebrow raised.
“Only the last part, but…” he eyed his double. “I think I understand.”
With a deep breath, he sat on the step beside Sam B. “Go and ask Richie if he’s willing to do it, Al. Don’t worry… we’re done with the fight.” He put a hand on Sam B’s back. “Though something tells me we haven’t put the issue to bed just yet.”